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YOUNG ENGLAND." 



SKETCHES 



Beyond the Sea. 



By FKANC B. WILKIE, 

("POLTDTO,") 

Author of "Davenport, Past and Present;'''' "'Walks About 
Chicago;'''' '■'■The Chicago Bar,''^ etc. 



,:■ Or ■■O.iQTr- 






CHICAGO: 

HAZLITT & REED, PRINTERS, 172 AND 174 CLARK STREET. 
1879. 



9h 



IfBlt LIBRARY 
I or CONGRESS 

WASHINGTON 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, 

bt franc B. WILKIE, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 






PREFACE. 



The letters which make np this book are a part of 
those sent to The Chicago Times from Europe, during 
the years 1877 and 1878. Thev include no portion of 
the correspondence which related to the Russo-Tiirkish 
war, or English politics. 

When their issue in their present form was first de- 
cided on, it was thought best to modify the views 
taken of the English people in the earlier portion of 
the correspondence. It afterwards occurred to the 
writer that it would be more in accord with the details 
of the situation to let the letters stand as originally 
published; because their progress keeps step with the 
march of one who visits a strange country, encounters 
first its more repellant qualities, and gradually moves 
on till one gets face to face with its real, inner life. 
The letters herewith given are believed to be fairly 
representative of observations, whose commencement 
developed a thorough dislike of, and whose end was a 
hearty regard, and a most substantial respect for, those 
among whom they were made. It should be noted 
that the fault-finding, in the case of the English, is 
confined to what may be termed their external char- 
acter; and that there is no partisanship in the writer's 
views, because he has nowhere failed to denounce the 
weaknesses and follies of his own countrymen when- 
ever the opportunity to do so fairly presented itself. 

(3) 



4 PREFACE. 

In Part II., while it is true that there was an excur- 
sion party made up substantially as represented, it is 
also true that the majority of the conversations re- 
ported did not occur. The writer, in using the four 
characters, was governed by a desire to present things 
from various points of view; such as they would be 
naturally seen by travelers of different ages, sexes, and 
conditions in life. 

For the permission to use these letters in book form, 
the writer is indebted to Wilbur F, Stoi'ey, Esq., 
editor and proprietor of The Chicago Times; a gen- 
tleman whose great ability as a journalist, and inces- 
sant devotion to his profession, have in no sense im- 
paired the kindliness of his nature. 

F. B. W. 

Chicago, March, 1879. 



CONTENTS. 



PART I. — ENGLAND. 

XETTEB. PAGE. 

I. In the Wilderness 9 

II. A Glance Around, 12 

III. In Ediaburgli Town, 17 

IV. A Few Hours in Parliament, 27 

V. English Oratory, 34 

VI. The Happy Briton, 38 

VII. External Views of the Briton 43 

VIII. The London Fire-Department, ...... 47 

IX. English Suavity, 56 

X. " Trying it on a Dog," 62 

XL The World's Metropolis, 68 

XII. London Journalism, 74 

XIII. London Journalism, 81 

XIV. London Journalism, 86 

XV. Americans Abroad 93 

XVL The Yankee Abroad, 99 

XVIL Among the Slums, . . . ' 107 

XVIII. The London Slums, . . 114 

XIX. British Red Tape, 121 

XX. Getting into Position, - . . . 126 

XXI. Curiosities in London Journalism, .... 132 

XXII. Philological Excentricities, 136 

XXIII. British Thoroughbreds 142 

XXIV. British Cattle Show 150 

XXV. Book-Makers, 154 

XXVI. A Model Prison, 164 

XXVII. A British Prison, . 171 

XXVIII. London 'Bus Drivers 176 

XXIX. George Eliot 183 

XXX. Department of the Exterior, 188 

(5) 



6 



CONTENTS. 



LETTER. PAGE. 

XXXI. Prominent Men, 194 

XXXII. Parliamentary Notabilities, 302 

XXXIII. Gladstone's Meeting, etc., 210 

XXXIV. All About Legs 313 

XXXV. Leg Athletics, 219 

XXXVI. English Social Qualities, . 228 

XXXVII. The Boat-Race, 335 

XXXVIII. Westminster Abbey, 344 



PART II.— THE CONTINENT. 

XXXIX. English and French, 353. 

XL. Exposition Notes, 259' 

XLI. An Excursion Party, 268 

XLII. Getting Oti', 272 

XLIII. Seeing Waterloo, 281 

XLIV. Doing Holland, 287 

XLV. Around Amsterdam, 395 

XLVI. Amsterdam to the Rhine, 803 

XLVII. Up the Rhine, 311 

XLVIII. Up the Rhine, 330 

XLIX. Through the Alps, 337 

L. Among the Alps, 334 

LI. An Open Letter 341 

LII. The Excursionists in Paris, 349 

LIII. The Excursionists in Paris, 357 

LIV. Our Baby on the Steamer 363: 



PART I. --ENGLAND. 



SKETCHES 

BEYOND THE SEA. 



LETTER I. 

IN THE WILDERNESS. 

London, June 25, 1877. 
Ii^ I 'AVINGr been here only some three days, I am unprepared 
rill' "j. ^^ write anything intelligent in reference to the war, or 
^-^^ anj^ other subject, in fact. London roars like a hundred 
Niagaras. The new comer is stunned by the tremendous clamor. 
It takes a week to become used to this uproar. Meanwhile, 
thought is suspended, the perceptions are dulled, the senses be- 
come as if chloroformed. 

A stranger who enters into this diabolical region of racket goes 
about as helpless as a blind man lost in an interminable forest. 
I have lost myself at least a thousand times since I have been 
here. Sometimes others have found me when thus lost, and 
sometimes I have found myself. Rarely the latter, however, be- 
cause after having gone up one street and down another, and 
through four others, and then discovered 1 was just where I 
started from, instead of being, as I supposed, two miles away — T 
have been bothered with the idea that it perhaps might not be 
myself, but somebody else whom I had found going about thus 
lost and bewildered. Generall}^, under such circumstances, I 
have referred the matter to arbitration — let it out to a policeman. 
All this is merely preliminary to saying that, as I as j'et have 
not had time or opportunity to get posted on the war question, or 
any other of importance, I shall have to devote this letter to 

(9) 



10 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

something less complex. There's the ocean voyage, for instance. 
It lias been written about before, perhaps. I think I have some- 
where seen something in the public jiriuts about a trip across the 
ocean; and, if such be the fact, then anything of the kind would 
not have the charm of complete novelty. 

They are pretty much alike, these ocean voyages— as much so, 
almost, as one trip from Chicago to Omaha is like every other 
one. There is always the same crowd at the piers at starting. 
There is the husband who can't go, and his wife who can; and 
liis grief at parting is generally intense in proportion as she is 
young and handsome, and he reflects upon the awful temptations 
of the further shoi'es There is the wife who can't go, and the 
husband who must. She weeps, but whether from joy or sorrow 
varies according to circumstances. There was one of those bereft 
souls at our parting. Her husband stood by the guards throwing 
yearning glances at her through misty eyes. She had her face 
buried in a handkerchief, and the handkerchief rested upon the 
shoulder of a handsome young fellow, who seemed in nowise un- 
happy at the situation. As I afterward learned from the bereaved 
husband that it was neither brother nor cousin, but a " friend of 
mine, a devilish good fellow, you know," I am satisfied that there 
was one wife who found the separation at least not beyond 
endurance. 

Two-thirds of the men and a certain jiercentage of the women 
commence the voyage by ballasting themselves very liberally 
with stimulants. Why men should get full on this i^articular 
occasion, any more than at a wedding or a funeral, or going to 
take a walk, or planting their mother-in-law, I know not. They 
do, however, and the result is that " sea-sickness " commences 
early in the voyage. One passenger was taken down by this 
malady before we left the dock, while two or three others, having, 
perhaps, a fear of becoming affected, were helped by sympathiz- 
ing servants to their state-rooms. In fact, the most of the "sea- 
sickness" on our trip occurred before we had lost sight of the 
steeples of New York. One or two young misses left the break- 
fast table the first morning out with very pale faces and tightly 
compressed lips ; but this was all. The sea was almost as smooth 
as glass; and, were it not for the absence of the odor, we might 
have believed ourselves sailing along Chicago River. 

On the voyage there are three things for the male passenger to 
do : To do nothing, to make love, or to drink British ale. Which 



IN THE WILDERNESS. 11 

is the most demoralizing of the three I am unprepared to say; 
nor will I assume to advise any one about to cross the ocean as to 
which of these three rocks it is most desirable, or least undesirable 
to split upon. The love making is perhaps the most pleasant and 
exciting while in progress; but then, it is much worse to "get 
over " than a debauch arising from Allsop or Dry Verzenay. 
Perhaps the role of doing nothing is the thing, because, while it 
does not afford any positive pleasure, it has the substantial rec- 
ommendation that it nowhere affords any supplementary pangs. 

The trip was absolutely without incident. We left to the half 
hour as advertised, and reached Liverpool within an hour of the 
time that had been set for our arrival. The whole run had the 
regularity of that of a well-managed railway train. 

As this letter is to be devoted wholly to nothing in particular, 
let me glance over the depot of the Midland Railway, which con- 
nects Liverpool with London. It is grand in its proportions, 
great in its dimensions, and complete in its finish, as appear to 
be all the railway stations in this country. 

What will attract the admiration of any American is the mar- 
velous attention to detail everywhere exhibited. The dining 
rooms are graded according to the purse of the traveler, as are 
the cars, into first, second, and third classes. Everywhere are the 
most scrupulous cleanliness and the most exact order. There is 
a large wash-room with an abundance of towels, combs, brushes, 
and other usual supplies. 

The water-closets are in ample rooms, with cheerful walls, and 
are as clean and free from odor as any similar appliance in any 
private house or hotel in Chicago. Herein our British brethren 
have it a long way the best of us. There is no excuse for the 
atrocious water-closets with which the great majority of Ameri- 
can railway stations are provided. Their existence shows a most 
wretched indifference on the part of officials to the comfort of 
their patrons. 

The difference in the two systems of railway management ap- 
pears to be that among us the official is the magnate, the digni- 
tary, and the public the servant, while here the official is the 
servant and the public the master. Perhaps the most desirable 
situation is one located about midway between the two, in which 
the public and officialism should occupy a common level, while 
each should compromise between its own dignity and the de- 
mands or rights of the others. 



12 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

This letter may be very stupid, but it shall at least have one 
merit, that of being short. As soon as I can take the cotton out 
of my ears and am able to go around a corner M'ithout a guide, I 
may be able to furnish something of more interest. Meanwhile, 



LETTER II. 

A GLANCE AROUND. 

London, June 28, 1877. 
"rir^THILE the Russians are crossing the Danube and getting 
^^^^)^ their forces in line, preparatory to forcing the Balkan 

■^ defenses, I may as yveU fill up the time by handling 
some commonplace subjects. We Yankees have something to 
learn from Johnny Bull ; and I am proud to say that, in many 
respects, we are prepared to reciprocate. We know how to keep 
a hotel, how to check baggage, how to build and run elevators, 
and how to do a hundred other things concerning which our 
British cousins have either very limited information or else know 
absolutely nothing. 

Wherein those differences lie, and what their character, may 
perhaps be best shown by touching here and there upon a few, 
things familiar to both countries. Many of the comforts of life 
diftereuces in peoples, and characteristics of nations are made up 
of comparatively little things, a few of which are herewith pre- 
sented. 

The most intolerable crucifixion which an American has to 
undergo is at the hands of the English barber. He is not a bar- 
T^er, however; he is a "hair dresser " ; but he adds shaving, or 
skinning, faces to his multifarious accomplishments. In one 
shop, after an attendant had taken some of the hair and most of 
the skin from my jaws and throat, he inquired with all the vigor 
of a Cliicago operator about to dispose of a piece of real estate, if 
I did not want my corns pared or removed. Upon answering 
him that I was just out of corns, he proposed to clean my teeth. 
To this I demurred, on the ground that I was thinking some of 
buying a tooth-brush and going into the business on my own ac- 
count. Not yet repressed, he contemplated the patches of gore 



A GLANCE AROUND. IS 

on my face, — produced by his razor, — and proposed to sell me a 
bottle of wash which was a sure cure for all such lacerations. 
" Mangling done here " should be the legend written over every 
English barber shop. The chair is an ordinary low, cheap, mod- 
ern affair with arms, and a narrow head rest, which seems rather 
more designed for breaking the neck than supporting the head. 
But it's all right and logical. A man, even though an English- 
man, can't do everything well. If he excel in cutting corns or 
cleaning teeth, he cannot be expected to excel in shaving. Life 
is too short for the complete acquisition of all these accomplish- 
ments. The manipulation of coi-ns requires an artistic mind — 
one too lofty and too ethereal to ever fully master the coarse 
and vulgar details of shaving a face. Yankees coming here will 
do well enough to bring their corns, but, if they cannot shave 
themselves, they had better leave their faces at home. 

I am about to relate something which will be regarded in Chi- 
cago as a scandalous exaggeration. 

Passing down Chancery lane a couple of mornings ago, I saw 
a drunken man. The sight of a drunken man in this great 
metropolis is not so singular as to deserve special mention ; but 
this is not all there is of it. He was engaged in an altercation 
with a policeman, was this inebriated Briton. He called the 
municipal guardian some hard names, did this obfuscated En- 
glishman. He went further; he struck out from the shoulder, — 
somewhat unsteadily, it is true, — and " landed one " on the police- 
man's " bread basket." 

Now, what was done by this insulted and outraged policeman ? 
I hear this answer frorii distant Chicago : 

" First, he took the offender by the collar and mopped a 
couple of square rods of the street with him. 

" Then he tore off his clothes, except a piece of his shirt and a 
remnant of one stocking. 

"Then he went at him with his club, smashed his jaw, broke 
his skull, flattened his nose, and reduced the number of his 
front teeth. 

"After this he took him by the legs and dragged him to the 
station, where he was rammed into a cell and allowed to remain 
in gore and unconsciousness till the next morning." 

Ah, no, Chicago, that won't do. You are judging things over 
here from your own standpoint. You are all wrong. Nothing of 
the kind occurred. The policeman simply put out his hand and 



14 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 



gave the fellow a slight push, which sent him off the sidewalk 
into the street. 

This is grossly improbable, I know, and I dislike to state it to 
an intelligent Chicago public. It is, however, not so improbable 
as what I have yet to state. For pushing the man into the street 
the policeman was arrested, and the next morning was tined by 
the magistrate ! 

Roars of incredulous laughter from every voting precinct in 
Chicago. 




The London policemen are not so fine in their physique as our 
Chicago guardians — who, by the way, are probably the finest 
appearing body of men in the world. But the London police- 
man, although rarely a giant, has some compensating traits. He 
can be found occasionally when he is wanted. He is always 
civil when applied to for information. He is not hampered by 
the interests of ward politics. In fine, his life is so arranged that 
he has some little time each day to devote to his business as a 
policeman. Upon the whole, I think he has an occasional point 
of superiority over the average policeman of the States. 

"We will tally one on barbers, while Johnny Bull may take a 



A GLANCE ABOUND. 15 

mark on policemen. On hackmen, the score is certain to go 
against us. Nobody here, on reaching a depot, would mistake a 
hack driver for an Indian howling through some fantastic war 
dance. He never shakes a whip at you, or seizes upon your lug- 
gage, or yells in your ear, or floods your face with the fumes of a 
tobacco-laden breath. He doesn't stamp, spit, or swear or ges- 
ticulate. An American wouldn't know him without a letter of 
introduction. The hacks are drawn up in a line, and the drivers 
sit quietly upon their seats. An official inquires as to the kind 
of vehicle the passenger wishes, and then he is led to the fore- 
most one in the line. He enters this and is driven away, the 
whole affair occupying but a moment, and not attended with any 
noise or altercation. 

Of course, it is scarcely to be expected that the free-born sover- 
eign who bosses a hack in our glorious land would ever consent 
to submit to any such slavish regulations. Still, if his free and 
soaring soul would consent to come down to the level of the 
British hackman, it would be an enormous comfort to the Amer- 
ican traveler. This, however, is too much to ask. Let us wait, 
and meanwhile continue to suffer. We cannot consent to adopt 
the examples of the effete despotisms of the Old World. 

It is a very common idea or belief on our side of the water that 
living is much cheaper in England than in America. Whatever 
may be the fact elsewhere, it is certain that London is far more 
expensive in this respect than either Chicago or New York. 

The liotels here charge from five to ten dollars a day for accom- 
modations which are in nowise comparable to those furnished 
by American hotels of equal pretensions. At a restaurant the 
cheapest kind of a dinner of two courses costs about a dollar. 
Several of these places advertise what they term two shilling six 
penny dinners, andwhichlooks on the face to be very reasonable — 
being only about sixty-five cents in American money. But when 
the customer comes to settle he finds a charge of fifteen cents for 
"attendance," and something else for other masters, which, with 
the gratuity to the waiter, will bring the cost of the whole to 
about one dollar. 

A small bedroom costs about four dollars a week, and this 
only on the upper floors. On the lower floors the cost of a bed- 
room with a small sitting room is from twelve to twenty dollars 
a week. To this outlay must be added the cost of omnibuses or 
other form of travel, because nobody lives in the city proper. 



16 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Everybody does business in the city and lives in some one of 
the suburbs or additions. 

Wherever one lives, whether in hotels or in lodgings, he never 
knows what his expenses are until he comes to settle. Extras 
seem to form no inconsiderable stock in trade of the thrifty 
Englishman. The soap is extra, the towels are extra, the light is 
extra, boots are extra, until in settling an account the extras be- 
come the bill, and the regular charges are a comparatively insig- 
nificant element in the transaction. It is pretty nearly safe to 
estimate that extras will nearly or quite double the original 
amount of the agreement. 

In some respects clothing is somewhat cheaper than at home. 
A fair, substantial business suit can be had, made to order, for 
about twenty dollars in gold. Finer goods cost about the same, 
while gloves are scarcely more than half what they are in the 
States. Upon the whole, one can dress more cheaply here than 
at home, but in other respects the cost of living is from one-third 
to one-half more. 

In some of the hotels in London they have introduced the 
elevator, known here as the " lift." If a person has all day to go- 
from the top of a hotel to the bottom, or mce versa, the " lifts " 
are a good thing — otherwise not. Once in them, it requires a. 
good deal of nice calculation and close observation to know 
whether or not they are in motion; and if so, whether they are 
going up or down. When at the Charing Cross Hotel, I made 
one or two pilgrimages in the " lift," but had to give it up, lest 
during some one of the journeys peace would be declared in Turkey 
and the armies all disbanded before I should get up or down 
where I could hear of it. The individual who is the engineer on 
this particular " lift " is as deliberate and immovable as the ma- 
chine. I said to him : 

" This is a very slow ' lift.' Now I can tell you how you can 
get people up and down much faster." 

He looked very much astonished, as if the idea of going anj,- 
faster were preposterous and absurd. Finally, after pondering 
over the matter a few moments, he said : 

'"Ow?" 

" Well, you can do it by anchoring the 'lift' and then raising 
and lowering the rest of the hotel." 

He looked at me with a sort of dumb astonishment for a while, 
and then, failing to comprehend, he evidently put me down as a 



IN EDINBURGH TOWN. 17 

crazy "furriner," and wrapped himself in a contemptuous 
reserve. 

Speaking of " furriners " reminds me that one morning on the 
steamer I asked the waiter, an unmistakable Briton, if the eggs 
were fresh. He said they were not. Why? 

" Cos furrin heggs isn't to be depended on, you knaaw." 

Further inquiry revealed the fact that the supply of " heggs " on 
board was of American origin. My patriotic instincts outraged 
by this indirect insult to the American flag, I queried : 

" Look here ! Do you mean to insinuate that American hens 
can't lay fresh eggs? " 

Just then he conveniently had a call to another part of the 
saloon ; but I am satisfied from his appearance as he left that he 
does believe the American hen utterly incapable of laying an egg 
less than from two to five weeks old. 

So much for British prejudice against " furriners." 



LETTER III. 

IK EDINBURGH TOWN. 

London, July 14, 1877. 

LTHOUGH this letter is dated London, it will mainly 
have reference to some features connected with a late, brief 
visit to Scotland. My correspondence * from Edinburgh 
was so much taken up with Pan-Presbyterianism that much else 
of interest was not made a matter of notice. 

One of the very first things which will present itself to one 
who goes from England to Scotland, or vice versa, is the marked 
difference in the sociability of the people on both sides of the 
dividing line. I had an excellent and characteristic illustration 
of this difference in my journey between the English and Scotch 
capitals. 

At King's Cross Station, London, I found an unoccupied com- 
partment, of which I took possession. Just before the train 
started, a young Englishman made his entrance, escorted by 
the guard, and from some remarks he made to the other, I infer- 

* Omitted. 



18 



SKETCHES BEYOKD THE SEA. 



red that he was laboring under a high pressure of disgust at his 
inability to secure a compartment all to himself. He gave me a 
slight glance, and took the corner furthest from mine, and thence- 
forth he devoted himself to making himself supremely alone. 
He turned his back to me, glued his face to the opposite window, 
and steadily peered at nothing out in the darkness. His position 
was an exceedingly uncomfortable one ; and as he evidently took 
it in order to avoid the possibility of speaking, or being spoken 
to, I felt somewhat sorry for him, especially as I entertained no 
conversational designs whatever in reference to him. 

We made occasional stops. "Whenever we began to "slow 
down" for a halt, he would apparently be seized by the dreadful 
apprehension that I might ask him what station it was, or how 
far it was to somewhere, or some other equally frightful inter- 
rogatory. To avoid such a dire calamity, he would drop the 



mm 




A SOCIABLE BRITON. 



glass, thrust himself far outside the car, exposing only a broad, 
substantial British base, supported by a pair of sturdy legs ; and 
would thus remain until the train, having gotten under full 
motion, the danger of a remark had passed away. 



IN EDINBDEGH TOWN. 19 

Just after daylight he left. Not a word had passed between us. 
He left with the supreme satisfaction of knowing that the beauti- 
ful chastity of English reserve had not been damaged by any 
illicit or any other kind of intercourse with a stranger. He 
was as happy as must have been some Sabine virgin who was 
overlooked in the fierce raid that bore away her shrinking and 
shrieking sisters. 

A half hour later we crossed the Tweed and were in Scotland. 
At Brunswick, there entered my compartment a young, hand- 
some, intelligent Scotsman, who was about the same age as my 
companion of the night. He said '' Gude mornin' " in a hearty, 
good-natured way ; and, five minutes later, we were conversing 
as glibly and as unaffectedly as if we had known each other 
for months. He knew all the proprietors by whose beautiful 
domains we were passing; he knew the name of every rock, 
ruined church, tower, castle, villa, and village ; and all these he 
gave me in response to my questions, or volunteered information 
when I could think of no questions to ask. 

The difference between my two traveling acquaintances is 
exactly the difference between the English and Scotch charac- 
ter in respect of sociability, geniality, and a regard for the com- 
fort of others. With but a single brief card of introduction to 
a resident of Edinburgh, I made more acquaintances during my 
stay there of a week than I probably will make in England 
in five years — were my banishment to extend over so long a 
period. 

Coming from Edinburgh to London I was fortunate enough to 
have for my companion a large and wealthy manufacturer from 
Glasgow. A more genial gentleman I have rarely met. The 
very least that I could promise him when w^e parted was that I 
would find time to spend a week with him, at his country resi- 
dence, in one of the most romantic portions of Scotland. 

I do not flatter myself that the treatment I received was wholly 
from compliment to my nationality — although it is a fact that 
the Scotch are very favorably disposed toward America and 
Americans, while precisely the reverse seems to be the case in 
England. I heard but one thing cliarged against America in 
Scotland, and that is the character of our tariff laws. This is a 
grievance among the manufacturers, and one which they omit 
no opportunity of bringing to the front. So far as I could I 
applied balm to their wounds, by assuring them that the great 



20 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

party of the future, as it once was of the past, is the democratic 
party, every member of which is pledged to absolute free trade, 
and with a tendency even to pay a small premium to encourage 
the import of the better class of foreign goods. If I did not 
relieve them wholly, I at least left them hopeful for the future, 
and the success of the democratic party. 

Speaking of American goods, there are evidences everywhere 
of American push, energy, and success that are highly gratifying. 
I see our reapers in every meadow and wheat-field wherever I 
go into the country. A Grand Rapids man came on the same 
steamer that I did, and although it has been less than four weeks 
since landing he has disposed of a very large number of forks, 
shovels, and the like, which he brought with him, and has taken 
orders for all he can supply for a long time to come. 

" Oh, what lovely beef," said an American lady at the Balmo- 
ral Hotel in Edinburgh, one day at dinner. " Why can't we have 
such beef at home? And the mutton we get here — its just per- 
fectly lovely! I've heard so often of Scotch mutton; but I had 
no idea that it is so superior! " 

Hereupon, having previously posted myself, I proceeded to 
inform my fair compatriot that every pound of beef and mutton 
she had ever eaten in Edinburgh was American; and that Edin- 
burgh is as much dependent upon America for its supply of beef 
as Chicago is upon Lake Michigan for its water. 

Such is the fact. I am not in possession of statistics as to the 
trade in American meats, but 1 believe that Edinburgh alone 
consumes some many car-loads each week of American beef and 
mutton. A very large trade in canned American meats is carried 
on, not only in Great Britain but in every state in continental 
Europe. I cannot now go into this matter of American goods to 
any considerable extent. I will only saj^ that the American 
" drummer," or commercial traveler, is about as common here 
as he is in any part of the country surrounding Chicago. 

I am not going to bore The Times with any guide-book descrip- 
tion of Edinburgh. I did not have time to take in the town. I 
climbed up to the castle, of course, and from its lofty battlements 
took in one of the loveliest scenes ever spread out on the surface 
of this dull earth. I visited a dilapidated old court, in which 
Sir Walter Scott used to come of an afternoon to gossip and sip 
his whisky. I stood for a moment in front of John Knox's 
house — a quaint old structure, whose overhanging upper story 



IN EDINBUKGH TOWN. 21 

suggested somehow the massive forehead of the great reformer. 
I stood a moment in a paved court-yard, where a small square 
plate with the letters I K is believed to indicate the spot beneath 
which, for so many generations, his ashes have rested. 

I took in Holyrood palace ; lingered for a few moments in its 
roofless chapel ; strolled through the bed-room of the beautiful 
Mary Queen of Scots ; inspected her supper-room, in which the 
brutal Darnley and his co-assassins seized the miserable Rizzio 
and stabbed him as they dragged him from the presence of his 
shrieking mistress; and I even tried to discover the stain of 
blood where he fell and breathed out his soul. In this I was 
unfortunate ; and assuring my guide that I hoped he would kill 
another sheep and renew the blood before I should come again, 
I left — left one of the most interesting places connected with 
the history of Scotland. 

I saw a few other things which I need not describe; but I may 
say that, if there be anywhere in the world a more charming city 
than Edinburgh, I have never seen it. It is not, however, a 
business place of any great importance or enterprise. The 
shops are rarely opened before ten o'clock in the morning; and 
then it is apparently done more from habit than from any 
expectation of doing business. The great publishing houses 
of the city, once so famous, have become dwarfed by the enter- 
prise of London, or they have disappeared. Glasgow is now 
the great manufacturing city of Scotland, as well as its principal 
seaport. Edinburgh's merchants, however, are wealthy and do 
not require a heavy business to meet their wants. There is accu- 
mulated in the city the wealth of generations. There is no need 
for exertion among its residents. Even its laborers move about 
and handle their barrows and picks more as if tliey were doing 
it to pass time than from any motives relating to bread or earning 
their wages. 

There is one peculiarity about the locality which I had not 
expected, and which I had never heard mentioned. This is the 
shortness of the nights. I frequently wrote in my room till half 
past nine in the evening without artificial light. It was not fairly 
dark till after ten o'clock, and daylight began to dawn at half- 
past one to two in the morning. Of course this is owing to the 
place being so far north ; and equally, of course, the exact reverse 
is true during the winter season. 

All the faces that one sees among the Scotch are characterized 



22 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

by a marvelous shrewdness. This indicates a real trait in the 
character of the people. It is said, and I have reason to believe 
in its truthfulness, that not a single trader of that class of 
operators commonly known as " Jews " is able to do business 
in Edinburgh, owing to the superior sagacity of the native resi- 
dents. Even the mendicants have a facial expression as if they 
were engaged in studying the best method of making a financial 
investment, or of calculating the interest upon a sum of money 
yet to be gained. While the faces of the Scotch are rarely hand- 
some, they are invariably strong, indicating great power and 
self-reliance. 

The first night after my arrival, I strolled into the smoking- 
room of the Balmoral to enjoy a pipe. Close by where I seated 
myself were three persons at a table, who were sipping whisky 
and water with infinite enjoyment, and whose loud tones and 
jolly laughter satisfied me that the present bowl was not their 
first by half a dozen. 

Discovering me, they discovered a Yankee, and forthwith, in 
their good nature, resolved on a little amusement. 

" How very singular," said one in a broad Scotch accent which 
I won't attempt to reproduce — " How disorderly America is. 
Now in the Highlands there hasn't been a man hung in forty 
years." 

As he looked at me very pointedly as he spoke, and as the 
others seemed to be watching the eft'ect of his words, I saw that 
a foreigner was attempting to pull down the American flag, and 
at once I rallied to its defense. 

" How strange ! " 1 remarked — " Is it because you can't catch 
them ? " 

"No, it's" he burst out, but I calmly interrupted him, and 

proceeded : 

" Or perhaps, it's the same as where I live, in a place called 
Chicago, in America. There hasn't been a man hanged there for 
ten years, but there's a many of them who ought to be." 

" I tell you no ! It's " he roared out, but I hadn't finished 

my discourse, and taking the floor, I proceeded : 

" Or may be it's the same as in the case of our American In- 
dians, who seem very like the Highlanders. They both wear 
breech-clouts, have bare legs, steal cattle, wear bright colors, 
stick feathers in their hat, and fill their belts full of knives and 
pistols. We rarely hang these Indians, although they are very 



IN EDINBQKGH TOWN. 23 

disorderly, and commit a great many murders. We don't hang 
them because we regard them as savages, and don't hold them 
amenable to the same laws that we do the civilized races. Per- 
haps this will account, also for there not having been any hang- 
ing in the Highlands for so many years." 

The individual who had taken a pull at the American flag was 
a small man with a flat, bald head. When I had finished, he 
rose, and unsteadily, but with immense dignity, and evidently in 
high dudgeon, left the room. He was accompanied by one of 
the others, who, also, departed in evident ill-humor. The third 
one remained. He was a paunchy man, with protruding, saucer- 
like eyes, puffed, cheesy face, and a head surmounted by gray- 
white hair. He was a good-natured looking chap, who seemed 
rather pleased at the turn matters had taken. 

" D — n it, mon," said he, " that's a Highland chief you were 
talking to. But you served him right. Gie me yer haun! " . 

I gied him my haun, and we shook cordially. We sat around 
for an hour or two. He told many very juicy and very improper 
stories, and interlarded their recital with many a strange oath. 
About 2 A. M., by the assistance of a couple of waiters, he 
went to his room, cursing vigorously that " last glass of whisky," 
without which he would "have been all right." 

The next day I went up to the convention. I gained a seat 
among the press people and began looking around to see what 
kind of a crowd was present, when suddenly I was caught by 
something in the appearance of a delegate who sat in one of the 
very front seats. He was a large man whose hands were clasped 
devoutly across his ample paunch. A pair of gold-bowed spec- 
tacles covered a pair of blue, saucer-like eyes. His face was 
pu3"ed and beery in hue. His gray-white hair stood straight 
up over his forehead. He had on a white choker, and on his 
face there rested a profound, imperturbable solemnity exceeding 
anything which the imagination could reproduce. His eyes 
were fixed intently on the speaker, and his ears seemed to drink 
in every word of a speech which was half Latin, and otherwise 
as dry and unintelligible as a Chaldaic oration. No more dig- 
nified, devout, grave, serene, imposing man was in all that 
gathering of delegates. 

While thus staring at him, with a vague idea that I somewhere 
had seen him before, he suddenly turned his head a little, and 
his gaze rested on me. It remained there a moment ; and then, 



24 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

without the slightest interruption in the solemnity of his visage, 
there was a perceptible dropping of his left eyelid, and a cor- 
responding rise, on the same side, of a corner of his mouth. 

At once recognition came over me like a sudden burst of sun- 
shine out of a dark cloud. It was my jolly companion of the 
night before. 

A few moments after he looked at me intently, and then went 
out. I took the hint, and followed. We met on the sidewalk. 
" D — d hot and dry in there," said he, as with an air of relief he 
took off his gold-bowed specs, and put them in his pocket. 
"Let's go somewhere and get a nip!" said he, and we went. 
A " nip" is Scotch for a half drink of whisky; and a half drink 
here is from four to six American drinks. 

I had a great deal of curiositj^ relative to the Edinburgh news- 
papers, and I took the time to go through all of them and to 
inform myself as to their operations, cost of management, and 
the like. 

Edinburgh has three morning dailies and one evening issue. 
The last named is The News; the others The Review, The Gourant, 
and The Scotsjnan. The latter is the leading newspaper in news, 
profit, energy, and circulation in Scotland. Like all the others, 
it is a Presbyterian organ, and represents the liberal party in 
politics. The Gouraiit is the tory sheet, and is a very old journal, 
having been established in 1705. TJie Eeciew is rather independ- 
ent and newsy, leaning somewhat to personality, sensationalism, 
and head-lines — a faint imitation of the American type of news- 
paper. The Scotsman, however, is to Scotland much what the 
London Times is to England. It is a quarto, like The Chicago 
Times, with the same number of columns, which, however, are 
wider. Like The Times, on Saturdays it issues an extra sheet as 
a supplement. Its average circulation is sixty-five thousand ; 
and its annual profits reach the comfortable figure of $100,000. 

It is printed upon the Walter press, and employs three of these 
to work off its edition. The minimum performance of each of 
these presses is thirteen thousand an hour, but I was assured by 
the manager that, under wholly favorable circumstances, twenty 
thousand an hour could be accomplished. Each machine has 
two folders attached, and each takes the dry paper from the roll 
and dampens it by passing it over a roller, whose surface, cov- 
ered with coarse cloth, is wetted by steam, which is admitted to 
the center of the cylinder. The presses work exquisitely, but 



IN EDINBURGH TOWN. 25 

are noisy bej'^ond all conception. In no part of the press-room 
is conversation, except by signs, at all possible. 

In the composition of the paper about seventy-five men are 
engaged, or about the same number as is required by The Chicago 
Times. These men receive thirteen cents per thousand "ens" 
for day work and fifteen cents for the same amount for night 
work. The paper used is a strong, clear, white article, and costs 
from five to six cents a pound, with five per cent. off. 

As is the case with all the leading papers of Great Britain, The 
Scotsman has what is termed a private wire.wliich connects it with 
the British capital. It ends in the room of the telegraph editor, 
and has operators who are furnished by the company who owns 
the wire. It is not, as its name would indicate, the property of 
the newspaper. It is put up by a company, and is rented to The 
(S'co^sma??. during certain hours — that is to say, from 6 p. M. to, 
6 a. m. During this period the paper has the exclusive use of 
the wire; and for such use it pays £3,500, or $17,500 a year. 

In addition to this, The Scotsman pays from three hundred to 
five hundred dollars a month for specials from various portions 
of the country. This amount represents a good deal of news, 
for the reason that telegraph news from any part of the kingdom 
costs only twenty-five cents per one hundred words during the 
day, and seventy-five words during the uiglit. 

This paper, containing an average of sixteen to twenty columns 
of advertising, seven of market and commercial matters, four to 
six of telegraph, and the remainder filled with editorial and 
miscellany, is sold on the streets at two cents. The wholesale 
price is one and one-half cents a number — a figure which does 
not admit of a very large profit on the circulation. The paper, 
however, has no middlemen between itself and the newsdealers. 
It supplies them direct, as if The Chicago Times were to take 
orders direct from dealers at Eockford, Beloit, and other places. 
I found that The Scotsman had formerly disposed of its issue 
according to the American system, but had finally abandoned it, 
because the present method is found to work perfectly well, 
besides affording a large additional profit. 

The management of the journal, like the system everywhere 
in the kingdom, is dual, — there being an editor, who controls 
the literary department, and a manager, who lias charge of every, 
thing else. Editorial writing is rarely done in the ofiice except 
in the case of what is done by the editor. Other editorials are 



26 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

furnished from the outside by men who may or may not have a 
permanent connection with the paper. And here may be noted 
the somewhat queer fact that editorials are required to be of a 
certain length. They may overrun, but they must not fall short. 
Hence it is that everywhere in Scotch and English newspapers 
the editorial articles are almost invariably about three-fourths of 
a column in length. 

In stereotyping, the machinery and other appliances are infe- 
rior to what we have in Chicago. In casting the plate, the inner 
surface is ribbed to the height of about one-eighth of an inch. 
These ribs are about two inches apart, and cross the plate from 
side to side. Their advantage is that the plate requires less 
metal, and in planing the inner surface of the plate only the ribs 
have to be " evened," which is done by a half revolution of a 
cutting edge. If I remember correctly, in the American system 
the planing is done by revolving chisels, carried forward on a 
screw, and some little time is required for the operation. A 
ribbed plate is planed in less than a second. In all other respects 
our mechanical system is very much more complete. 

The various offices in the building occupied by The Scotsman 
are models of beauty and taste. The carpets are specially woven 
for each room, and differ in design, while all have some apposite 
reference to the location. The windows are beautifully stained, 
and the furniture is massive, rich, and at once most convenient 
and luxurious. 

The cheapness at which the paper is sold and the comparative 
smallness — sixty-five thousand — of The Scotsman circulation 
may give birth to some astonishment at the comparatively great 
magnitude of the yearly profits — one hundred thousand dol- 
lars — were it not that the small cost of composition and of 
telegraph news forms a partial explanation of the problem. A 
complete explanation will be found when it is known that the 
rates of advertising are about twice as high as in Chicago. 

I may add that the office sends out every morning a special 
newspaper train which goes to Glasgow. It thus supplies not 
only the west of Scotland, but it intercepts all morning trains 
running north and south, and thus reaches every part of Scot- 
land within two or three hours after publication. 

As I was shown through The Scotsman building, I gave in every 
instance the corresponding methods of doing the same things in 
the office of The Chicago Times. The enormous engines, the vast 



A FEW HOURS IN PAELIAMENT, 27 

boilers, the duplicate system of macliineiy, the elevators, pneu- 
matic tubes, and electric calls were, to them, all novelties. At the 
urgent request of the manager, I gave him drawings of the pneu- 
matic tubes, the "headers" in the stereotype department, and of 
some other features which attracted his attention. It is quite pos- 
sible that some of these features of The Times will be introduced 
at once into the leading newspaper in Scotland. 

That The Times is doing a missionary work is shown in the 
fact that, when taking leave of the manager and tlianking him 
for his courtesy and information, he assured me that the obliga- 
tion was the other way, as The Times had given The Scotsman 
more information than The Scotsman had The Times. While this 
may be in part a compliment, in the main it expresses his honest 
convictions. 



LETTER IV. 

A FEW HOURS IN PAKLIAMENT. 

London, July 21, 1877. 

'IGHT before last, through the influence of a member of 
Parliament, to whom I have letters, I secured exception- 
ally good seats in the House of Commons and that of 
Lords. In both I happened to be present when the Eastern 
question came up in various shapes, and therefore had a very fair 
opportunity to judge the merits of the two parties. Whatever 
may be said of the amount of brains on either side, it is certain 
that the drill, the cohesion, are with the war party. They were 
readiest with their remarks, more concentrated in their move- 
ments, and more enthusiastic in their action than the opposition. 
The ''hear, hear!" from the war partisans were concentrated as 
though uttered by one voice and animated by one purpose, while 
those on the other side were scattering, and not at all indicative 
of a mutual and thorough agreement. It was artillery fire on 
the one side, and on the other the dropping shots of independent 
skirmishers. In this condition of things is exemplified the 
actual condition of the two parties. 

In order not to make this letter too tedious it may be well to 
give the readers of The Times, who may not have an opportunity 



28 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

of seeing for themselves, a brief sketcli of wliat I saw in and 
about ttie House of Parliament. Let me, then, first glance briefly 
at the Commons. 

It requires some influence to get into the houses, as the public 
is not regarded here as of very great consequence except in the 
abstract. Policemen are at the outer door, along the hall, at the 
foot and top of the stairway leading to the floor on which 
the two houses or lialls are situated. Once on this landing, one 
finds himself in a large arched hall, from which passages lead 
in all directions. Two of the broadest of them lead in opposite 
directions — the one to the House of Commons and the other to 
the House of Lords. 

A stranger, if he be decent in appearance, can get as far as 
this central hall or rotunda without diflaculty. Three doors, on 
the one side, and a small army of lielmeted policemen in blue, 
separate him from the Commons, and, on the other, the same 
obstacles bar his progress to the Lords. Only officials, or specta- 
tors with orders, are allowed to pass. 

I sent in a card to my friend, and, a few moments later, I was 
tucked under his arm, and we passed the first line of police and 
the first door. Soon a second door and more policemen, and 
then another arched rotunda, with passages leading to committee 
rooms, library, and other rooms more directly intended for the 
use of the Commons. Directly across from the large folding- 
doors through which we entered is another pair of large folding- 
doors, which open into the hall occupied by the members. This 
Totunda seems a sort of lounging room for members, pages, and 
the like, and has at every exit the inevitable policeman. 

It was nearl}^ 4 p. M. when we entered this room, and almost 
immediately after a stalwart policeman roared out: "Hats ofi! 
Make way for the honorable Speaker ! " Instantly two lines 
were formed by the people between a side door and the entrance 
to the main hall, and every head was uncovered. I was so 
astounded by the announcement and the quick falling into line 
that I scarcely'' took in a procession which came from the side 
room, moved at a swift pace between the human walls, and then 
disappeared in the hall of tlie Commons. I think that the pro- 
cession was headed by a gorgeous individual, who wore plush 
knee-breeches, a swallow-tailed scarlet coat, with brass buttons, a 
white wig, who had a red, bulbous nose, and who carried at 
" present arms " a club, knotty and bulbous at one end, like his 



A FEW HOURS IN PARLIAMENT. 29^ 

nose, and gilded till it looked like solid gold. Behind this 
gorgeous skirmisher — he is the mace-bearer, I think — came the 
main body, which consisted of a small man, who bent fcn'ward as 
he walked, who had on his head and hanging down his shoulders 
and covering his ears, what seemed a sheep-skin, with the front 
cut out so as to show his face. He had on a black gown with an 
enormously long trail which was tenderly borne, at a respectful 
distance in the rear, by a solemn young man in black tights, a 
cocked hat and a sword. Behind him was the chaplain, also 
with sheepskin and gown, but whether somebody bore his trail, 
in my confusion I failed to notice. A clerk or two followed, all 
be-gowned and be-sheepskinned like their predecessors, and then 
the weird procession vanished. 

It came so suddenly, passed so quickly, was so astounding in 
appearance, and disappeared so instantly, that sometimes I think 
it must all have been a marvc41ous dream. 

My friend very kindlj^ secured me a seat just over the main 
seats, so that I had an excellent view of the hall. Unlike our 
Representative Hall, there are no desks. A wide aisle runs 
through the center of the hall. The seats are long benches run- 
ning parallel with this aisle and each rising above the other 
toward the sides. Thus the members, when seated, all face the 
aisle, and exhibit only their profiles to the Speaker, who sits in 
the center of the aisle at the end opposite the main entrance. 

Every member has his hat on, except when entering or leaving 
the room or addressing the Speaker — that is to say, he can keep 
it on if he so elects. The most of them did so elect during my 
visit, and, as the room was quite warm, the operation could not 
have been a very comfortable one. This absurd custom goes to 
show how closely our English cousins are attached to precedent. 
They wear their hats simply because their fathers did, and their 
children will wear their hats for the same reason. 

To the right of the Speaker were the conservatives, to the left 
was the opposition. On a bench immediately at his right were 
the heads of the various bureaus of administration. They were 
there in order to reply to such questions as might be put to them 
by the House. These questions, by the way, are all printed on a 
sheet, which is a programme of the work of a day's session. 
The intention to ask any of the ministers a question on any sub- 
ject is always embodied in a notice at some previous meeting, so 
that the party to be questioned has time to frame a reply. 



30 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

In this process are seen some of the workings of a responsible 
ministry — a something which we may yet find it advisable to 
come to in order to amend our defective form of administration. 
It is as if Evarts, Schurz, Slierman, and the remainder of the 
cabinet were to appear before the House each day and answer 
such interrogatories as might be put to them by tlie members. 
Fancy Belknap coming up daily and being questioned on the 
sale of sutlerships ; or Robeson to answer concerning repairs of 
rotten steamers, or the letting of timber contracts. It is certain 
that under such constant supervision and examination, malad- 
ministration and malversation such as have disgraced our country 
during the last decade, would be unknown. 

I saw several notabilities in the House — Gladstone, Fawcette, 
the blind member; Sir Charles Dilke, Gathorne Hardy, Major 
O'Gorman, and many others — whom in some future letter I may 
find room to sketch. I pass them for the present in order to 
notice a more famous character than all of them — second to no 
one in Europe in statecraft unless it be Bismark — the lately 
created Earl of Beaconsfield, better known, however, as Disraeli. 
Hearing that the Prime Minister was to speak, I left the House 
of Commons, and upon the order of a noble Lord, was finally 
admitted, along with a select few, into the " strangers' gallery " 
of the House of Lords. The hall employed by the Lords is sub- 
stantially like that of the Commons in its shape and furniture. 
The news that Disraeli was to speak filled all the seats belonging 
to members ; and all other points where he could be seen and 
heard were crowded by members from the other house. 

I did not need to be told which of all the men below me was 
the famous Prime Minister. On the front bench, in nearly the 
center of the hall, sat a figure in black, in whose motionless 
attitude, swart face, and Hebrew cast of countenance I at once 
recognized the famous Tory leader. He was the most marked 
and striking figure in the house. His features are large ; his face 
smoothlj' shaven and dark; his expression a dull, sullen immo- 
bility. This sullenness of his swarthy features is intensified 
by his raven black hair, worn long, and cut squarely around the 
neck. His forehead is wide and high ; his perceptive organs 
prominent, giving him a strong intellectual appearance, and 
which is added to rather than detracted from by his broad, 
massive jaws — indicating intellect backed or reinforced, by 
enormous physical powers. 



' A FEW HOURS IN PARLIAMENT. 31 

For a long time lie sat on the bench with one leg crossed over 
the other, head bowed a little forward, and motionless as if cast 
in bronze, save a twisting in and out of each other of his white, 
shapely, slender hands. I may except another motion, but which 
was so slight as to escape notice, unless one like myself were 
watching him with close attention. This was in his eyelids. 
They are very large, and drop over his eyes like two great cur- 
tains. Ordinarily they were down, concealing the whole eye; 
but now and then they would rise quickly for a short distance, 
and a thin background of intense black would flash out upon the 
audience. Until he rose to speak, had it not been for tliis nervous 
twisting and untwisting of his fingers, and the occasional raising 
of his eyelids, he might have passed for a chiseled marble, or a 
casting of sternest bronze. 

Whether he were poseing or not, I cannot say ; but even if he 
were, he shows himself an artist of the highest power. Nothing 
could have been arranged more striking, nothing .which so 
bristled with salient points and mysterious suggestions. He sat 
there displaying power in his heavy physique and unbroken 
repose. One who saw him, saw not only suggestions of power, 
but of secrecy, dark and unyielding as that of the grave. Not 
only these, but cunning, tlioughtfulness, endurance, obstinacy; 
and everywhere a mysterious something which defies reading, 
which makes the face enigmatical, sphinx-like, and renders 
abortive all attempts to penetrate through the swart and sullen 
mask, and read what lies beneath. 

When he rose to speak he seemed to be a powerful figure, a 
little above the medium stature. He wore a frock coat, buttoned 
about his waist, and which displayed to good advantage a strong 
rather than a graceful figure. There was a table in front of him, 
and to this he walked, so that he stood with a half-face to the 
Speaker. He commenced his address in a low, but yet not indis- 
tinct, and withal a rather musical voice. His head was thrown 
forward, his eyes were fixed on the table, and his manner was 
singularly hesitating. He appeared laboring under a painful 
embarrassment. His voice had a tremor in it; he seemed to 
stumble over a word here and to catch at some other one there. 
His hands and arms were incessant in a species of nervous shift- 
ing. The fingers would rest for a moment on the table. Then 
the arms would be clasped behind his back, only to remain there 
a second before swinging by his side, or being moved forward 
again to rest upon the table. 



32 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

He was as uneasy with his feet and legs as with his hands. He 
moved at first incessantly — now forward, now back, then poised 
upon one leg and then upon the other. He was so uneasy ; he so 
twisted, and swung, and rocked ; his utterance was so broken and 
so hesitating, that one might almost fancy that he was about to 
break down. 

Nevertheless, all this time it was the eye and ear which took 
in these developments. Beneath the senses was a conviction that 
all" this was of no account, and that despite them he was moving 
forward swiftly and irresistibly. And such was the case. His 
Ideas were clear, logical in their arrangement, and his words 
fitted to each other like the jewels in a diamond cluster. By 
degrees, the apparent nervousness, hesitancy and indecision dis- 
appeared. The feet became immovable; the shifting motion of 




THE EUROPEAN SPHINX. 

the arms gradually grew into quiet but artistic gestures; the 
twisting of the body into a swaying motion full of power, defer- 
ence, yet dignified and graceful. The heavy head was thrown 
back ; the sullen, motionless features became lighted up and per- 
meated by a flexible mobility; the broad eyelids rolled up, and 
the great eyes flashed out with a sombre brilliancy. 



' A FEW IIOUKS m PARLIAMENT. 33 

He spoke for nearly an hour. It was only upon some unim- 
portant matter — a vote of censure by the Commons upon an 
appointment he had made of a Mr. Pigott to the head of some 
minor department. Nevertheless, he held his auditory intact. 
If he can do so well upon so insignificant a topic, what can he 
not do when handling any of greater importance ? 

To-day he is one of the shrewdest, most ambitious and most 
powerful men in Europe. Despite his age — he is now about 
seventy years — he is as ambitious as when, many years ago, after 
failing miserably in his maiden efibrt in Parliament, he defiantly 
informed his jeering auditory that they would one day listen to 
him, and that he should one day succeed. 

The Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Stafford Northcole, 
is the one who answered for the government, in the House 
of Commons, when pressed by the questions of Messrs. Faw- 
cette and others as to the intentions of the government during 
the adjournment. He spoke evidently from inspiration afforded 
him by the Prime Minister; and, from the tenor of his remarks, 
he is, at least officially, in entire harmony with the chief of the 
cabinet. This harmony is almost or quite a matter of course, so 
far as it relates to official utterances. As to private opinion, it is 
hinted that the Chancellor is not at all a believer, at least, in the 
"manifest destiny" of the Oriental races. He may share the 
belief that the capture, or even temporary occupation, of Con- 
stantinople by the Kussians would be inimical to British inter- 
ests, but he certainly goes no further. 

In fact, his personal appearance will at once negative any sus- 
picions of any Shemitic tendencies such as control his leader. 
He is in every possible particular the exact opposite of Disraeli. 
He is a blond of the purest type, with a long, abundant beard 
of a rich yellow, and thick hair to match. He is almost pale as 
to complexion, and with his blue eyes, substantial figure and 
open face, he contrasts remarkably with the smoothly-shaven, 
swai'thy-faced, raven-haired Prime Minister. As a speaker he is 
just as remote from the other. Disraeli, although somewhat 
awkward, and seemingly to some extent embarrassed at the out- 
set of his speaking, soon becomes self-poised, collected, graceful. 
Northcote, however, is awkward, stuttering, hesitating, at the 
beginning, middle and end of all his speeches. He leans with 
his hands upon the table in front of him, bends ungracefully for- 
ward, and accentuates his remarks by pushing himself forward 
3 



34 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

in a stiff and unpleasant manner. Every word he utters is 
bridged to the next word by an "aw-aw" of several spans in 
length, and whose enunciation is singularly harsh and disagreea- 
ble. His ideas, however, are good, when he succeeds in deliver- 
ing himself of them ; and his statements, when the " aws " are 
dropped out and the files have closed up, are found to be a strong 
and handsome presentation. 



LETTER V. 

ENGLISH ORATOKY. 

London, July 26, 1877. 

fMUST say that, as a general thing, I like the English style 
of oratory as exhibited in Parliament. There is no spread- 
eagleism. A speaker does not saw the air, or howl, or stride 
up and down the aisles — a la mode Blaine — shaking his extended 
finger, or his closed fist, in the faces of his auditory. There is 
nothing stagey; there are no sweeping windmill gestures, no 
passion, or straining after mere oratorical effects. Now and 
then the member from Skibbereen, or thereabouts, becomes 
dreadfully in earnest, as he gets on the question of home rule, 
or the oppression of Ireland, or British tyranny, and lets off a 
few fireworks ; but ordinarily there is nothing of the kind. 

Nor is there among any of the members that air and attitude 
of self-satisfaction so common among our own speakers, and 
which seems to say that the individual is entirely pleased with 
his own effort, whatever may be the case with his hearers. I 
have heard several of the leading men in both houses make 
speeches, and in every case, from Disraeli down, each has inva- 
riably commenced as if embarrassed, as if he felt he were about 
to address a body of men of whose intelligence and dignity he 
had a full appreciation, and as if he entertained serious doubts 
as to his ability to properly demean himself and properly present 
the subject of his discourse. There is an indirect but neverthe- 
less a very strong and grateful compliment to an audience in 
this modest demeanor of a speaker at the outset of his discourse. 



ENGLISH OBATOBT. 35 

It is quite the reverse of the I-don't-care-a-d— n-for-you style 
-with which so many of our Congressmen present themselves 
before an audience. 

The gestures of the average English speaker are few, but effec- 
tive. I do not know that I have seen a full-arm gesture in the 
case of a single speaker — or, at least, in any case where the arm 
was above the head. A half-arm movement, horizontally given 
from the elbow, is about the extent of the demonstration indulged 
in by the majority. The delivery is close upon the conversational, 
rarely rising above this, but always earnest and emphatic. In 
Disraeli's speech to which I alluded in my last, there was not a 
superfluous gesture, or accent, or inflection in it from exordium 
to peroration, and yet, by turns, he was humorous, pathetic, 
indignant, denunciatory, ironical, and always convincing, — hold- 
ing the attention of the audience, without a break, from begin- 
ning to flnish. A stronger speech, one which held so completely 
the sympathies and which so perfectly carried the convictions of 
an audience, and yet which had so few apparent oratorical graces 
or displays, I never before heard. 

Of course, all the speakers do not rise to the force and general 
superiority of this style of oratory. There are some inferior 
ones; some whom to hear excites mingled feelings of contempt 
and pity. A member named Brown is an exception to the 
average excellence. He is very tall, and thin, with a small head, 
and no very commanding intellectual development. What he 
said I do not know, owing to the infernal confusion ; nor does 
anybody else, unless it be himself. I could see his lips move, 
and that was nearly all. His gesturing was of the queerest 
description, and altogether original and unique. About every 
six seconds his head, his right forefinger, and his left knee would 
be all pushed forward a few inches, as though he were using his 
sharp nose, pointed finger, and bony knee to transfix his enemy. 
This automatical shooting forward of these portions of his per- 
son gave him a very bristling, and withal a very ludicrous 
appearance, which I fancy may have had something to do with 
the laughter and ironical cheering and other noisy demonstra- 
tions which attended him at every step of his remarks, and most 
completely obliterated every word that he uttered. Still Mr. 
Brown is a conspicuous exception to the mass of speakers, who, 
while in many cases lacking poise and finish, are nevertheless 
convincing, and full of a quiet but potent energy. 



36 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Monday evening, I was sauntering about the large room or 
lobby just outside the hall of the Commons. There were some 
twenty or thirty others, some of whom were members ; others 
members' friends, loungers from the House of Lords, and the 
inevitable lackeys and policemen. 

Suddenly a small electric gong somewhere in the vicinity 
began to give out a regular devil's tatoo, which was taken up 
by imitative gongs in various other parts of the building. 
Instantly there was a dreadful, a terrific commotion. Every, 
body started to run ; and, not to be out of fashion, I started on 
a run also. Thinking there might be a fire, or a riot, or an 
impending earthquake, I did not propose there should be any 
running away unless I had a hand — or a leg — in it. Accord- 
ingly I ran. Various people ran over me, and as far as I could, 
without going too much out of my way, I ran over various other 
people. As I was not running anywhere, but simply running 
on general principles, my going out of my way to run over 
somebody or be run over by somebody did not affect my average. 

"This way! Come on now!" shouted the policemen as they 
turned us down a long hall. Away we went, devil take the hind- 
most, down the long passage-way until we reached the great 
octagonal room beyond. Into it we went pell-mell, helter-skelter,, 
breathless and demoralized as a column of runaway Bashi-Ba- 
zouks. Here we found a line of policemen who ordered us 
fiercely on our arrival to pass behind them. We did so ; and a 
moment later the fugitives were behind the line of police, who 
had so arranged themselves as to leave about one-half of the 
octagon a clear space. Along this open space men madly shot 
from outside passages and cantered madly down the hall along 
which we had just retreated. The gongs still kept up their 
infernal clatter, and Hades seemed suddenly let loose upon us. 

Finally, feeling somewhat secure behind the line of policemen, 
and being assured of their valor by the loud and imperative 
manner in which they ordered the fugitives to "Stand back, 
there! " I asked a party near me what it all meant. 

" It's a division of the 'ouse." 

" My God, is it possible ? Do you suppose the casualties would 
have been tremendous if we had left only on a walk ? " 

My companion evidently did not master the proposition 
readily, and I dropped him. But I was relieved. It was not 
an earthquake, or a conflagration, or the discovery of a Guy 



ENGLISH OKATOKY. 37 

Fawkes' plot, but a division. A division ! There was about to 
occur the awful ceremony of ascertaining how many British 
legislators were in favor of a motion to add tuppence a month 
to the salary of Irish school teachers, and how many British 
legislators opposed this colossal, educational outlay. A division — 
the terrific and awe-inspiring ceremony of counting affirmative 
noses and negative noses, prior to which the vulgar public must 
be run out, lackeys must become suddenly insolent, and police- 
men must assume the airs and the powers of a grand Llama in 
■dealing with the public. 

For just forty minutes we stood behind the impervious and 
immovable policemen, while the sacred work of counting noses 
went on. From the line of police in our front, down the hall, 
there were other policemen at every few steps. The door at the 
lurther end of the hall was closed, and policemen guarded it 
zealously and jealously against every attempt that might be 
made to secure a forcible entrance. No lodge of Freemasons ; 
no meeting of hunted Covenanters; no conclave of assassins 
conspiring against a throne, was ever more closely guarded, and 
approach prevented, than the House of Commons during the 
startling occurrence of a " division^" 

I am now entirely satisfied that the most sacred, exclusive, 
and altogether awful ceremony in the world is that involved in. 
ascertaining how the member from the Red Dog and Yellow 
Lamb district proposes to vote on a motion to make it a penal 
offense for a non-landholder to catch a bullfinch without a license. 

I may add that, after the first stampede was over, and I had 
gotten back into the lobby next the Hall of Commons, I, in com- 
pany with some others, was, in less than five minutes, run out in 
precisely the same way, pending the performance of another of 
these Eleusinian mysteries — a division. 

Demoralized at this second stampede, I continued retreating 
until I had left the Parliament buildings a long way in the rear, 
and had established myself at such a distance from the scene of 
operations that further stampedes from the advent of a Parlia- 
mentary " division " became an impossibility. 

So far as I have been unfortunate enough, as a member of the 
general and unknown public, to encounter a certain class of 
English officialism, I have found it insolent and tyrannical in 
the extreme. I mean by this class more especially the lackeys 
and others who surround and guard the approaches to officials. 



38 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

The men in brass buttons who bar the progress of the public 
toward the office of a foreign secretary or the House of Com- 
mons are a hundred times more imperious, condescending, 
insolent, and overbearing than is the foreigu secretary himself, 
or any member of the house. Upon the approach of a superior 
they grovel, as it were, in the very dust ; they salaam ; they crawl 
about ventre a terre in their wondrous humility ; and then turn 
around and avenge themselves by bullying the first poor devil 
of a citizen who has to pass them or wishes for information. 
I am getting so permeated by this universal bullying of inferiors 
that I feel seriously inclined to kick every bootblack and blind 
match-peddler whom I encounter. 

There is one commendable feature in all this ; and that is, that 
while the average British citizen will stand any amount of airs 
and insolence from these flunkeys, he' regards his person as- 
sacred. A policeman, in ordering men to stand here, to go there, 
or to go away, or to move on, may be just as arrogant and inso- 
lent in his tone and demeanor as he likes; but he is mighty 
careful not to lay the weight of his finger upon any one whom 
he is thus ordering about like cattle. To touch a man, to push 
him back, under such circumstances, would result in a tremens 
dous row. You may abuse the British public all you please, if 
you are an official, but woe unto you if you ever lay even your 
little finger upon his sacred person. 

For which redeeming trait I greatly admire the British public, 
and almost forgive him for the patience with which he submits 
to the arrogance of subordinate officialism. 



LETTER VI. 

THE HAPPY BRITON. 

London, August 3, 1877. 

UR British cousins have each made a Jonah of himself. 
He has planted a vine, beneath whose shade he can sit 
in comfort while he looks across and watches to see the 
American Ninevah tumble into ruins.* The ancient Jonah, sit- 
ting beneath a gourd, and watching and hoping for something^ 
* Allusion is here made to the American labor riots in July, 1877. 



THE HAPPY BRITON. 39 

which never came to pass, has always seemed to me a credul- 
ous aud superlative old ass. I do not think the British Jonah is 
any improvement upon the Hebrew original. 

■But they enjoy it. I don't believe the English people have 
had so much right-down substantial enjoyment as they are hav- 
ing now, since the days of Bull Run and the Confederate advance 
on the National Capital. 

In all this jubilation; in the assertion that the " strike is a far 
more serious afi'air than the civil war, and one more indicative 
of the weakness of the system of government," and in scores of 
similar expressions, one finds only an ezemplification of English 
dislike for America and Americans. In fact, this dislike of 
Americans prevails everywhere here except among a very few. 
There are some English people who hate their own kind, and 
have a most extraordinary liking for people from the States. 
They profess to admire the American "temperament" whose 
flexibility and activity are in violent contrast to the phlegmatic 
and heavy disposition of the representative Englishman. Out- 
side this very small class, the word American is a synonym for 
barbarism ; and not only this, but it means something to be 
disliked, to be avoided, and oftentimes to be hated. 

I can imagine no good reason for this. It is true that the 
class of Americans who periodically invade this country are not 
the best we have on the other side. They are often vulgar in 
dress, and " loud v in manners, and narrow in their views and 
estimates. Still it is not fair to estimate the whole American 
people by the specimens who drift over here, any more than it 
would be to judge the English people from the zebra-striped 
Britons who invade America. There must be something inherent 
which creates and keeps alive this mutual dislike. It may be 
the case that a Briton does not dislike an American more than he 
does any other foreigner. He seems to dislike all foreigners, 
and we are made particularly aware of it because we happen to 
speak the same language. He dislikes us rather more than 
others because we reciprocate his hostility in a language whicli 
he understands. In some sort, we are his relatives, and, as is 
well known, there are no quarrels so intense, bitter, deadly as 
among families. 

It is true that, in speeches, we hear a great deal about kinship, 
and all that, but you may be assured that, so far as the English 
people are concerned, it is all bosh and pretense, without one 
shadow of earnestness. 



40 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

While it is true that the Englishman hates all foreigners, there 
may be special reasons why he is so averse to an American. The 
two are utterly unlike in every conceivable respect, not except- 
ing even the language. An American coming here can no more 
understand the street cries of 'bus conductors, peddlers, news- 
boys, and the like than if they were spoken in Choctaw. In 
fact, it is often difficult to understand what is said by ordinary 
people in conversation on common-place topics. 

But the conti'asts between the two are much more marked in 
other directions. An Englishman is a monarchist in govern- 
ment, and an aristocrat in social organization; an American is 
a republican in the first sense, and a democrat in the other. The 
American is dark, the Englishman a blonde; the women of the 
former are slight, graceful, willowy — those of the latter are 
stout and often unwieldly. The American is social ; he makes 
the acquaintance of his traveling companions, and of all with 
whom he comes in contact. The Englishman is just the reverse, 
and will travel all day in a car crowded with people and will 
not exchange a word during the trip. 

Going to Brighton, a couple of days since, there were nine 
Englishmen and your correspondent in one compartment. Not 
only was there not a word spoken on the trip, but each Briton 
seemed to be laboring under a most distressing apprehension 
that somebody might do the " beastly " thing of speaking to 
him. All the way, each of them was incessantly engaged in 
trj'ing to look in a manner that would arrest the calamity of being 
addressed by anybody else, and in a laborious effort to keep his 
knees, coat-tails, and elbows so well in, that nobody else could 
touch them. 

The American is exceedingly polite and reverential to women; 
the Englishman either exactly the reverse or else stupidly indif- 
ferent. I have never seen an Englishman give up a seat to a 
woman, or in any way, in public, show her any attention. If a 
man and wife are out walking, and there is a baby, the woman 
generally carries it. An American joui'nalist, last week, under- 
took to get a lady friend, who was quite ill, from one part of 
the city to another. A 'bus came along, but it was full. The 
journalist appealed to a man inside to take an outside seat, and 
give the sick person the inside one. He did so after some hesita- 
tion and grumbling, but a few minutes later he stopped the 'bus, 
came down and claimed his seat, and the sick woman was landed 
on. the sidewalk. 



THE HAPPY BRITON. 41 

At Brighton, a large party went out on a yacht for an hour's 
sail. It was very rough, and several of the passengers became 
quite ill. Among others were an Englishwoman and four 
children, one of whom was a beautiful baby which she carried 
in her arms. The children got to the side of the boat, but the 
mother, holding the baby, and sitting in the middle of the vessel 
<lid not dare to move owing to the violent pitching. She was 
deadly i^ale, and evidently in dreadful distress. All around her 
were beefy, complacent men and women, who saw her condition 
■with supreme unconcern, never offering to lift a tinger to assist. 
I finally came to her rescue, took the baby from her, led her to 
the side, and then sat for half an hour endeavoring to quiet an 
infant whom sea-sickness and terror had combined to make 
especially uneasy and unhappy. Some of the men about wiped 
their ej^eglass, and stuck it in their eye in order to look over a 
specimen who did such a marvelous thing; and the women 
watched with languid astonishment my etforts to quiet the child, 
but not one volunteered to aid in the operation. There was 
but one bright feature, to me, in the whole performance. Once 
when my little charge commenced throwing up like a young 
volcano, I so steered or manipulated the upheaval that what I 
■did not get myself went into the silken lap and over the ample 
skirts of a female next to me. She was the one who should have 
taken the baby. She did not take the baby, but she did most of 
its contents. 

Always are these contrasts presenting themselves. An Amer- 
ican building a house surrounds his front yard with a light fence, 
or with a low curb, in order that the flowers, or lawn, or plants 
may be seen and enjoyed by the public. An Englishman, under 
the same circumstances, constructs all around his premises a 
thick brick wall fifteen feet high. He then buys up all the 
broken bottles in the neighborhood, and cements these on the 
top of the wall, with their sharp edges up. Then he goes inside, 
locks the gate, takes out the key, pulls in the keyhole, walks into 
his castle, and is happy. 

Among us, defective vision is regarded as a defect, the sapie as 
lameness or a tumor; here it is a merit. An Englishman is not 
truly happy until he cannot see more than three feet in front of 
him, whereupon, with a monocular glass, screwed in one eye, he 
is supremely blest. Probably the reason that approximate blind- 
ness is so much appreciated here is that it enables a native always 



42 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 




EXTERNAL VIEWS OF THE BKITON. 43 

to have an excuse for not seeing, and therefore not recognizing, 
somebody else. 

This exclusiveness will continue to work its way until a time 
when its practical development will be perfect. At that time, 
the railway coach will be so remodeled that each compartment 
will be reduced to dimensions which will accommodate only one 
Briton and a bull-dog. Seated thus, in solitary grandeur, the 
Briton of the future will be happy beyond the conception of this 
generation. 



a^ 



LETTER VII. 

EXTERNAL VIEWS OF THE BRITON. 

London, August 11, 1877. 

CLOSED up my last letter by some comments to the effect 
'W that the British lion is really the king of beasts* — with the 
^^^ emphasis on beasts, if you please. But, after all, he is a 
magnificent animal, is this leonine representative. He is fierce 
in his flashing eye; the perfection of vigor in his enormous 
shoulders and muscular neck, and full of a strong, graceful 
beauty in the poise of the massive head and the flow of his 
tawny mane. 

I have somewhere read of a lion who, when a little, squeaking,, 
frightened mouse was put in his cage, dropped his lordly tail 
between his legs, and went frantically bounding against the bars, 
giving vent to thundering roars of abject terror. So occasionally 
with the British lion. He at times becomes fearfully demoralized 
when there is nothing larger than a poor little mouse to cause it; 
but his average is good. As a general thing he can be relied on 
irrespective of the size of his antagonist. See how he trounced 
the Ab3'ssinian beast because the latter had interfered with one 
of his progeny! 

In brief, while a diplomatic mouse will sometimes demoralize 
this lordly animal, he will fight the entire menagerie if necessary 
to protect one of his subjects. Let it be asserted, and even 
demonstrated, that a Russian advance is endangering British 
interests, and it at once happens that one-half of England give 
the matter no thought, and the other half are eager for a fight — 

* Omitted. 



44: SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

providing they can get some other nation to do it for them. But 
let some foreign power lay unlawful hands upon a British sub- 
ject, and, in twenty-four hours or less, the black muzzle of a 
British iron-clad has been thrust into the business. It is repara- 
tion or fight, instanter ; and to enforce this alternative every able- 
bodied male in England would shoulder his Snyder and marcli 
to the front. Do you remember how quickly we dropped Mason 
& Co. after we had picked them up from a British mail steamer? 
Well, it's just so everywhere. The world may pluck the beard 
of the British lion; it may call him opprobious names; it may 
fling offal at him and insult him most egregiously, and he will 
endure it as patiently as an ass will a feed of thistles; but lay a 
hand in anger and unlawfully upon any of his subjects any- 
where — tlien woe to the offender ! 

The average Briton of the sterner sex, and between certain 
ages, is the perfection of physical beauty in many respects. 
Between eighteen and thirty, one finds a class of men who have 
few equals and no superiors. They are a little above the medium 
height, square as to shoulder, broad and deep as to chest, with 
mighty thighs, and swelling muscles as to arm and leg, witness- 
ing no end of devotion to rowing, cricket, bicycling and other 
muscle and health-giving exercises. It is as good as looking at 
•a fine picture to see one of these fellows walk. He has a long, 
swinging stride; his swelling muscles, the poise of his trunk, 
his advanced chest and the ease of his movement, all combine to 
suggest power — a power ample for the work in hand, with a 
further suggestion as to a reserve available for any imaginable 
purpose. His cheeks are ruddy, his eye bright, his lips red, his 
gleaming teeth faultless. He rides a horse as if a part of him, 
rising with an easy, graceful motion as the animal trots, or sits as 
immovable as a rock when flying along at a swift gallop. In 
line, the British youth is the perfection of physical manhood, as 
handsome as Apollo, as strong as Sampson, as swift as an antelope 
and as enduring as iron. 

Prior to this age, he is a callow, shame-faced youtli, with 
enormous feet, ill-fitting jackets, and a plug hat. After passing 
thirty, he grows beefy and stout. At forty he is paunchy, with a 
nose that is growing bulbous. At fifty he is short-winded; he 
measures forty-five around his chest and ninety-five around his 
waist; his nose is pitted and blooming as a strawberry; the top 
of his head is as white, as gleaming as a billiard ball, and he 



EXTERNAL VIEWS OF THE BRITON. 45 

suffers from twinges in his big toe, coming from unlimited indul- 
gence in port, sherry, champagne, bitter beer, Bass' ale, Guinness', 
hock, claret, and brandy and water — all of which he decants 
into himself at, or about, a grand, daily cramming performance, 
which he calls his dinner. 

From the time the British female makes her debut in a baby- 
wagon up to the time she puts on long dresses, she is the most 
charming creature in existence. She is generally a blonde, with 
long, abundant hair, streaming like a yellow cataract adown her 
back. Her eyes are blue and filled with an innocent light, which, 
while saint-like, is yet healthful, and full of energy and a pleas- 
ing, and not immodest, self-reliance. Her complexion is exquisite, 
her features delicate, her ensemble pervaded with grace, health 
and beauty. 

What becomes of all these beautiful children and these charm- 
ing misses ? Heaveri only knows. It would seem as if they were 
annihilated upon reaching a certain age, and that the species is 
continued by a special creation into which there enter no 
elements of the preceding growth. Gone are the beautiful com- 
plexions, gone the delicate features, gone the sylph-like figures, 
gone the clear innocence of the eyes, gone everything character- 
istic of childhood and girlhood. I have yet to see a dozen 
entirely pretty or wholly well-dressed young ladies since my 
arrival in England. Their breadth of shoulder is masculine; 
their walk, although strong, is rarely graceful, and their taste in 
dress often simply atrocious. 

" Oh, you haven't seen anything but the lower classes! " 

This from some disgusted Briton. Ah, yes, my friend, I've 
heard that remark before. You always say that whenever I 
venture to criticise or find fault. You not only mean by the 
remark to neutralize what I am saying, but you also intend to 
convey the meaning that you know a great deal better, because 
you associate constantly with the higher classes. This is a par- 
donable bit of snobbery on your part, my friend, but it won't 
answer the purpose. I have sat in Hyde Park when all the 
fashion of London was out on wheels. I have been at the " Zoo " 
on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, in the season when everybody 
was there, from the Earl of Beaconsfield down — or up, as your 
politics may choose to have it. I've had old stagers with me 
who knew everybody, and who pointed out the Earl of this, the 
Duke of that, the Marquis of t'other, and no end of my lords 



46 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

and my ladies, and swells of all possible degrees and qualities. 
I've seen enough members of the higher class to fill Moody's 
Tabernacle, on Market street, at least seven times; and I will say 
of them as a general thing that they are handsomely dressed and 
entirely respectable people in appearance. 

No, the British young woman is not handsome. She is health- 
ful in appearance, and thoroughly removes any apprehension — 
if there be any — that the baby-wagons of the future will not 
continue, as now, to have an average of two occupants of the 
same age, or of but a few months difference. As a wife and 
mother she becomes, for a time, beautiful. Maternity softens the 
lines of her face and supplies the blank, indifferent stare of 
young womanhood with a warm and tender light. One of the 
most charming of the many sights one sees here is a family car- 
riage laden witli beautiful children and a woman whose face is 
radiant with the beautiful, gentle glow of motherhood. 

If there be reason to marvel over the disappearance of the 
beautiful girl-children and the charming misses; if there be 
cause for wonderment that there is no connecting link between 
lithe, slender, vivacious, sprightly, tender girlhood and the im- 
mobile, placid, expressionless young woman with her broad 
shoulders and her promise of plentiful fruition as to population, 
what cause is there not for marvel and wonderment, in excess, ■ 
when one comes to examine, in detail, the British matron, who 
has reached or passed her eighth lustrum ? My pen hesitates 
and trembles as it nears the labor of attempting to outline one 
of this notable class. 

The rounded, lissom form of the girl disappears, or is merged 
into the broad and often angular figure of the young woman. So 
in time disappears the mother with the radiant glow on her face, 
and the tender light in the eyes, and then the rigid features and 
scowling face of the matron. Beer and maternity have done 
their work, especially the former. 

Sit down here a moment in Hyde Park. It is in the season, 
and the magnificent roadway is filled to its utmost capacity. 
Carriages, with ensignia of nobility on their panels, with liveried 
drivers and blooded horses, roll by in endless succession. Every- 
thing about them is quiet, rich, indicative of rank. Inside sit 
the British matron and three daughters. The latter are as calm, 
as immovable as if they were marble. Posed in reclining atti- 
tudes, they look neither to the right nor the left ; they are as 



THE LONDON FTEE DEPARTMENT, 47 

dispassionate, as fixed as if frozen into eternal rigidity. The 
former is a picture — Flemish in its redundancy and coloring. 



LETTTER VIII. 

THE LONDON FIRE DEPARTMENT. 

London, August 16, 1877. 

f CONSULTED the directory various times ; went by 'bus and 
underground railway to divers and remote parts of the city 
and metropolis ; lost myself on a dozen or twenty occasions ; 
was ignominiously repelled by awful and dignified flunkies when 
I happened to get into the wrong ofiices ; and finally, one hot after- 
noon, after being misdirected by twelve different policemen, 
bootblacks, porters, and small boys, I discovered the location of 
the chief of the London fire brigade, Capt. Eyre Massey Shaw, 
and I also made the further interesting discovery that he was 
not in. Even the discovery of the fact that he was not at home 
was not a labor unattended with difiiculty. I was met at the 
very threshold of the small engine-house where I finally ran him 
to earth by a stern-looking personage, in a blue, undress uniform, 
who regarded me with a severe and knowing expression which 
conveyed perfectly the idea that he knew 1 was there for the pur- 
pose of cribbing the old-fashioned hand-engine in the passage, 
and that it couldn't be done while he had the strength to resist 
any such felonious attempt. To his stern " What do you want?" 
I humbly replied by mentioning the name of the chief. 

" What do you want of him ? " 

" I'm a pilgrim from a foreign land and desire to examine the 
workings of your department." 

"Are you connected with a fire department?" 

"Unfortunately, no. I'm a simple journalist in search of 
information. Won't you please hand my card to Capt. Shaw." 

He took it doubtfully, as if he were under the impression that 
this was simply a ruse to get rid of him, so that I might make 
oflF with the hand-machine during his absence. But he was not 
to be caught napping. He went into a back-room, remained a 



48 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

moment, came out, went down a passage, and disappeared. At 
the same time the heads of two men appeared through the opea 
door and their owners regarded me with ceaseless vigilance. 

In about ten minutes the gentleman with the card returned and 
informed me that Capt. Shaw was not in. Thereupon I drifted 
out into the maze of the crowded streets of London. A week 
later I tried it again. 

I had to undergo the same preliminaries. I had to explain 
who I was, whether I belonged to any fire department, and what 
I wanted. The card was taken along the passage, and the same 
individuals in the back room kept a vigilant eye upon the safety 
of the hand-engine. In a few minutes the individual returned 
with the statement that Capt. Shaw was engaged but would see 
me after a little. The message seemed to have an ameliorating 
effect upon the party who delivered it, and upon the two guard' 
ians in the back room. It is true that they did not fail to keep 
a lookout, but it was a trifle less severe than before. They still 
knew, so to speak, that I was intending to elope with their small 
machine, but they evidently concluded that I would not make 
the attempt until I had seen the chief. Therefore, there was a 
partial let up in their vigilance ; and, availing myself of this and 
the time I had to wait for Capt. Shaw, I strolled about the engine 
house and " took in " its character. 

It is a small affair — about the size of an average bedroom. 
Close to the street are two engines — one a small steamer, and the 
other an old-fashioned hand-machine with brakes, and rigged 
with a tongue and whitfletrees, so as to be drawn by horses. The 
tongues of both machines were unshipped and tucked away 
snugly beneath fhe axletrees, so as not to be in the way. It 
occurred to me, as I noticed this, that haste in getting out an 
engine, after an alarm, is not an essential feature, because it would 
require some time to get these tongues out and place them in 
position. As I afterward learned, I was not mistaken in this 
conclusion. I saw nowhere any stables, harness, or signs of 
hgrses. Back of the engines, in a row along the wall, were a 
half dozen brass helmets, very highlj- polished, and very shapely 
and handsome. The back portion of the room was partitioned 
off, and from the tables, desks, and maps which I saw through 
the open door I concluded it to be some sort of an office. 

I had long become satiated with examining the two machines 
and admiring the brass helmets, and had about made up my 



THE LONDOJSI FIKE DEPAKTMENT. 49 

mind to send word to Capt. Shaw that I would call in again the 
next time I should come to Europe, when I was rejoiced by the 
appearance of my friend and by the information that I could 
walk up stairs. I did so, and a moment later found myself in 
the presence of the renowned Chief of the London Fire Brigade, 
Capt. Eyre Massey Shaw. I found a tall, slender, handsome 
blond, with an intelligent face, a moustache and imperial, and 
who seems not niore than thirty-five years of age. He bowed 
gravely and awaited in silence my pleasure. 

I am rather of the impression from the expression on his face 
that he had expected to meet an American who had called for 
the purpose of inviting him out to take a few cocktails, and wlio, 
thereafter, expected the captain to invite him to liis house to stay 
a couple of weeks and, meanwhile, to devote his afternoons and 
evenings to showing him, the American, the inside sights of 
London. If such were the gallant captain's ideas, he was soon 
undeceived, for I at once said to him: 

" Capt. Shaw, you spent some time in examining our American 
fire departments. In Chicago we have one of which we are 
proud. I should like very much, in the interests of the journal 
I represent, to look over your system and compare it with ours. 
As you probably know, the people of Chicago have reason to 
take a great interest in fires and all that relates to their handling." 

"Certainly," said he, evidently very much relieved. He sat 
down at once and gave me a card passing me everywhere through 
the engine-houses. Then saying: "You may as well commence 
here," he put on his cap and led the M'ay down stairs. 

" I'm afraid," he said, " that we can't show you much that will 
interest you. You are far ahead of us in a good many respects." 

" But you don't need the same efficiency. You have fewer 
fires, and your buildings are more substantially put up, and 
don't burn as easily as ours." 

" That's a mistake. We have more fires, and the building here 
is not as good as yours. Besides, many of our buildings are two 
or three hundred years old, and are as dry as tinder." 

I may add here, that so far as substantial work is concerned, 
Capt. Shaw is quite right. I have noticed a good many build- 
ings in process of erection, and I am prepared to say that many 
of them are so flimsy in their character that they would not be 
allowed in Chicago. 

We reached the foot of the stairs and there met face to face 
4 



60 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

my friend, whom I had eacountered on my previous visit, and 
who had apparently entertained such suspicions in regard to my 
design to pocket and make off with tlie hand-engine. If he had 
placed liimself at the foot of the stairway with the idea that he 
could intercept me in some felonious design as I came down, he 
immediately found himself mistaken, when he saw me coming 
under the friendly escort of his chief. Capt. Shaw introduced 
him as chief engineer, which, I believe, is equivalent to what is 
termed foreman in America. He touched his hat politely, pro- 
ceeded to show me all the details of the station, and proved 
himself thereafter a most gentlemanly official. 

I may state here that an English subordinate is quite one 
thing, or quite another, according as you are presented to him. 
Since my visit to Capt. Shaw, and the receipt of his card of 
introduction, I have visited a dozen different engine houses, or 
" fire-brigade stations." In every instance, when I have showed 
signs of entering, an individual has presented himself, barred 
my progress, while upon his face there was a grim expression 
of: " Well, now, what do you want ? " Then I have leisurely 
hunted through my inside pockets for my wallet, and then 
through it for the card. During all this time the countenance 
of the individual seemed to say: "That's all humbug! You've 
got nothing, and, in a couple of seconds more, I'm going to kick 
you into the middle of the street for your impudence in coming 
around here, and making believe you have got something that 
you haven't got! " And yet the very moment his eye would scan 
the charmed card, his expression would change, his hand would 
go up to his cap, and he would at once become the politest and 
most accommodating of gentlemen. 

After parting from Capt. Shaw, I was taken into the back 
room by my conductor. A huge map of London hangs on the 
wall, on which numbered red spots indicate the location of every 
engine house in the city. The city is divided into four or more 
districts, each of which has telegraph connections from its 
various stations to the central station of that particular district. 
The central district stations have telegraphic connections with 
the main central station — the one where I was being shown 
through. These stations were pointed out on the map ; and I 
was shown the telegraph dials connecting with the central 
sub-stations. 

"Suppose now," I inquired, "a fire should break out, say 



THE LONDON FIRE DEPARTMENT. 



51 



here,"— as I indicated a remote part of the city, and some dis- 
tance from an engine-liouse — " wliat is the modus operandi?" 

"The nearest fire-brigade station is notified, and from there 
word is sent to the central station of that district. The fact is 
then telegraphed here to the central station." 




LONDON FIRE ALARM. 



" Suppose the engine which goes to the spot cannot handle the 
fi!re — then what?" 

"Word is telegraphed from this station how many other en- 
gines must go to the fire." 



52 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" How is word first brought to a station that there is a fire?'* 

" By any person who sees it." 

" But suppose there is no one round?" 

" Oh, there is always sure to be in a place as large as London, 
Besides, the one who first discovers and reports a fire gets half a 
crown. In the same way, the one who first reports a fire to a 
fire-escape station gets half a crown." 

" Then you don't have any fire-alarm boxes ? " 

" No. What are they ? " 

I explained that, in my town, in case of a fire, a person goes- 
to the next corner, turns a little crank two or three times, and 
then hurries home like the old boy to get there before the 
steamer. I also explained the convenient district-telegraph sys-* 
tem whereby a man, who, smelling smoke in the night, reaches- 
his hand over his pillow, touches a knob, and then flies to open 
his front door in order to prevent its being smashed in by firemen. 

I saw he was a good deal incredulous ; but I had something- 
else in store for him. 

We went out to the front and looked over the engines. The 
steamer is a small one, the opening into whose fire-box instead 
of being at the rear, is at tlie sides between the wheels. A gas- 
jet burning under the boiler keeps the water always warm. I 
inquired if it was not inconvenient to have the furnace door at 
the side instead of behind; and how they fed the coal when 
going to a fire? He thought it is just as well at the side; and 
beside, he said, they never have to feed on their way to a fire. 
What material is in the furnace is suflBcient to gfet up the neces- 
sary steam. 

And then we went to the stables. They are next door, down a- 
long inclined plane, fully one hundred and fifty feet from the 
engines. There were some six horses standing in their stables, 
none of them harnessed. 

" How long does it take you to harness up, and run out after 
an alarm is struck ? " 

" Oh, not over three or four minutes." 

I gave a long whistle. 

He looked at me. " Can you do it any sooner?" he asked. 

"Sooner!" I ejaculated; "Sooner! an engine in Chicago 
that has not hitched up, pulled out, and run over at least three 
people within from eight to fifteen seconds after an alarm has 
struck, would not remain in the department twenty-four hours! " 



THE LONDON FIRE DEPARTMENT. 53 

He almost laughed in my face as he asked, " How do you do 
that?" 

Then I went for him. " Why, the horses are always harnessed 
night and day. Their stalls are just behind the steamers, and 
the same electric current that strikes the gong drops the halters 
off the horses. Trained to their business they instantly swing 
into place, the tugs are hitched, the driver is iu his seat, the men 
<5lamber into position, and away they go with a yell and a gallop ! 
If the alarm be at night, the electric current tips up the bed of 
the driver, which is exactly over the seat of the engine, drops 
him into his place, and also overturns the beds of the men, 
and"— I was about to add — "throws a jet of cold water into 
«ach man's face to waken him, pulls on his boots, and then tosses 
him into his place on the machine," when I forebore. There was 
something in the face of my guide that warned me I had gone 
far enough, and that a persistence in such monstrous exaggera- 
ion would necessitate the adoption of severely-repressive meas- 
ures. However, he is no exception to any number of people 
-whom I have met over here. I have often attempted to explain 
to them our district-telegraph, fire-alarm apparatus, and the 
rapidity with which our firemen run out their machines, but I 
have never found anybody who believes a word of it. I verily 
believe that, among these people. I am looked upon as the biggest 
liar in all London. 

There were several other matters that I wished to ask about, 
but the face of my conductor bore an expression which con- 
vinced me that he no longer reposed confidence in my integrity, 
and thereupon I came away. 

Determined not to be balked in my search for information, I, 
from time to time, as other business engagements would permit, 
visited other stations, and obtained interviews, but was always 
•careful to go only to stations remote from the central one, and 
where 1 did not deem it likely that my reputation for mendacity 
■could have extended. 

From the officer in charge of station Twenty, on Oxford street, 
I was put in possession of further information of value. I said 
to him : 

" You have no hydrants. How do you take water? " 

" You may have noticed," he answered, " on the corners of 
buildings around town, and here and there a small tin sign with 
the inscription, ' F. P. 15 ft.,' or 20 ft., or 50 ft. This means that 



54 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

there is a fire-plug within fifteen, or twenty, or fifty, or whatever 
may be the number of feet from the corner, or the place where 
the sign is put up." 

I admitted having puzzled myself often over these cabalistic 
signs. " But what is a fire-plug ? " I asked. 

" It is simply a hole in the street about three inches in diam- 
eter. This hole is the end of a pipe which connects with the 
water mains beneath the street. In order to get water from them 
a connection is opened with the street main." 

"Must this connection be opened whenever you wish to take 
water from a plug ? " 

" Certainly; the water is only let into the plug when there is a 
fire." 

" Of course, then every station has a wrench to turn on the 
water when wanted ? " 

"No; that is the work of a turncock. He is an official in 
the employ of the various companies wlio supply London with 
water." 

" But how do you find a turncock when you want him ? " 

" Well, there is half a crown reward to tlie one who first notifies 
a turncock that there is a fire." 

"But can one always be found?" 

" Most always. Sometimes he is late, but not very often." 

" I see. After the turncock has been found and the water turned 
on, how do you take it ? Does the hose screw into the opening 
of the plug?" 

He went to a hand-machine, opened the top, and fished out a 
canvas concern about as long, high, and broad as a champagne, 
basket. The top is open. In the center of the bottom is a hole 
about four inches in diameter, whose edge is bound with leather. 

" We put this over the plug," he said. " The water rushes into 
it and fills it. We put the end of the suction-pipe into it, and 
that's the way we get the water." 

" But isn't there a great waste under the bottom ? " 

" No, because as soon as the leather around the hole gets wet 
it ' sucks ' the pavement, and becomes perfectly tight." 

Cut off a hydrant flush with the street. Take an ordinary 
champagne-basket and make it water-tight. Cut a hole in the 
bottom just the size of the hole in the hydrant; put the basket 
over the hole; and then let a steamer take its water from the 
champagne-basket — in this way could Chicago avail itself of 



THE LONDON FIRE DEPARTMENT. 65 

tlie advantages of the London system. In order to prevent the 
water spurting above the basket there must be a leather band 
stretched across the top in a position so that the up-rushing water 
will strike it and fall back into the receptacle. 

I commend this ingenious arrangement to Marshal Benner. 
Perhaps, if we had had it in 1871 we might have put out the 
October fire before it reached the river. 

I had only one or two more questions. 

" Why do you retain the hand-machines ? " 

"Because they are lighter, and we can get to a fire quicker." 

" Does it take any longer to hitch up for a steamer than for a 
hand-machine?" 

"No; but then we can get through the streets faster." 

" Don't you have the right of way along the streets?" 

"Not at all. We have just the same right as anybody else; 
and if we damage anybody we are liable for it." 

Ye gods ! My imagination at once drew a contrast between 
the London steamer, picking its way gingerly along the streets, 
and the mad rush of the Chicago steamer, the sonorous clang 
of the bell, the trail of smoke rushing fiercely back, the rapid 
pounding of iron hoofs, the tossing manes, and the roar and 
clamor as the rocking machine shoots by like a burnished and 
smoking thunderbolt! 

And finally : " Do you have men enough to man the brakes ? " 

" Not connected with the department. But we get them from 
the crowd. There is no trouble about that! We've often to 
pound men away, there's so many offer themselves." 

I touched my hat, thanked him, and left. 

The above conversations embody the main features of the Lon- 
don fire system. A fire breaks out, and there is no systematic 
method of giving an alarm. If somebody happens to discover 
it, and if he happens to know where there is a brigade station, 
and happens to be willing to go thither with the information, all 
right. If not, then all wrong. Then again, if somebody hap- 
pens to know where a turncock lives, and happens to be willing 
to go and rout him out, then, once more, all right; otherwise all 
wrong. It's just the same with the fire-escapes ; chance informa- 
tion, the stimulus of half a crown, are all that assures to a family 
shut up in a burning building the arrival of means of escape. 

In a city so densely populated as London, it is impossible that 
a fire can long escape notice ; and yet it is certain that where so 



56 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

many mere chances are depended on for getting engines, water, 
and fire-escapes, tlie average results must be largely against 
securing prompt action. 



LETTER IX. 

ENGLISH SUAVITY. 

London, September 1, 1877. 

|P7''R0M time to time, in this correspondence, I have done our 
English friends the justice to abuse them whenever I 
thought they were deserving of it. Having been engaged 
in this work does not prevent my seeing another side to the Eng- 
lish character and finding therein much which is equally 
deserving of praise. By way of variety, let us glance at this 
phase of English life. 

One thing which will, in the end, favorably impress an Amer- 
ican is the very universal politeness which is everywhere preva- 
lent. I say in the end, because, at first, when a Yankee lands 
here fresh from the breezy independence and don't-care-a-damn- 
for-auy-body style which prevails among our people, he is in- 
clined to fancy that politeness is overdone, and that it is a sham, 
a something which lies all on the surface. This may be true to 
a very considerable extent. 

When a shop-keeper, of whom you have purchased tuppence 
worth of something, and have taken up half an hour of his time, 
bows you out, and says, "Thank you! thank you very much ! " 
and does it all with an air of deferential regard, you cannot help 
feeling that this volume of thanks comes from no deeper source 
than his lips; you may suspect the motive and rather despise 
the manner of giving it expression, and j^et you cannot but like 
and be soothed by the flattery involved in the whole transaction. 

" Have jrou any good smoking tobacco ? " I asked an old lady 
who stood behind the counter of a tobacco-shop. 

"Thank you, sir! Yes, sir! 'ere is some, tenpence the bounce, 
sir!" 

I examined it, smelled it, and concluded I didn't want it. 

" No, I believe not. It's not just what I want." 

"Thank you, sir! Good morning, sir! Thank you!" 



ENGIJSH SUAVITY. 



57 



This is not an uncommon case. The red-shirted bootblack 
touches his cap as you approach, and lie thanks you and touches 
his cap as you give him a penny for his labor; or if you decline 
to patronize him, he is very apt to touch his cap with his dirty 
fore-flnger, and say "Thank you, sir," all the same. 

The barber who shaves you says " Thank you " when you turn 
your face over so that he can shave on the opposite cheek ; the 
cabmen, the 'bus conductor, the bar-maid, every one to whom 
jou pay money, always receives it with a pleasant acknowledg- 
ment. It may be that you know that in every one of the cases 
not one is animated by any true spirit of politeness; and that 
while thanking you with his lips he may, in his heart, regard 
you as a nuisance, a barbarian, or anything else unpleasant — 
nevertheless, the politeness is there, it is agreeable, and it com- 
mends itself as far superior to the surly independence in use 
among Americans of the same class. 

If there is any particular thing which is calculated to make an 
American homesick, to make him feel he is indeed in a foreign 
clime, it is the entire absence of profanity. Except what I may 
have overheard in a few soliloquies, I have not heard an oath 
since my arrival in England. The cabman does not swear at 
you, nor the policeman, nor the railway employe, nor anybody 
else. Nobody in an ordinary conversation on the weather, or in 
asking after some one's location, or inquiring after another's 
health, employs from three- to five oaths to every sentence. It's 
rather distressing to an American to get used to this state of 
things ; to talk to a man for three or four minutes, and never 
hear a single "d — n;" to wander all day through populous 
streets, and not hear a solitary curse ; to go anywhere, and every- 
where, and not be stirred up once by so much as the weakest of 
blasphemies. What wonder that the average American becomes 
homesick under such a deprivation, and that he longs for the 
freedom and curses of his perrary home? 

Another feature which I miss very much here are collections 
of tobacco-chewing citizens, at street-crossings and other places, 
who flood the sidewalks with saliva and make it "interesting" 
for any lady who may happen to pass. I must confess that the 
entire absence of all such gatherings, engaged in ribald conver- 
sation, in staring insolently into women's faces, in making the 
air foul with tobacco smoke and curses, has convinced me that I 
am indeed far from home, and cast adrift among a strange, a 
peculiar and unsympathetic people. 



58 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

All these various things are of minor consequence taken singly, 
but when they are summed up thej^ have a material efiect upon 
the comfort, the sensibilities of a resident. They are symptomatic 
of important difi'erences ; and, in this sense, have a very signifi- 
cant meaning. The fact that the average Englishman never puts 
his muddy hoofs on the opposite car seat; that he will sometimes 
make room for you in the car or 'bus if there be any room ; that 
he never uses his fingers when engaged in blowing off his snout ; 
that he doesn't spit all over every lady and everything with whom 
or which he comes in contact ; that he is never profane or bois- 
terous in his conversation in a public place; these, and a score 
of similar things are all in his favor, and will excuse the lack on 
his part of many things whose possession would make him much 
more agreeable than he is at the present time. 

While it is true that there is a tendency among certain classes 
of Englishmen to black the eyes of their wives, or to kick them 
into "kingdom come" with hob-nailed shoes, the average do- 
mestic life of the English is one full of charm. Every family 
must have a home. There is no uneasy, demoralizing hotel life 
as among us. Every family has a home, even if it be but a single 
room in a garret. 

As to the harmony and happiness of these English homes, I 
shall have nothing to say. They may, or may not, be happier 
than the average American home; it is only certain that the 
English people lay more stress upon this feature than we do, that 
they surround it with more safeguards, that they endeavor in 
every possible way to separate it from the world and give it an 
individuality and an existence all its own. 

This separation of the home from the rest of the world is car- 
ried into and becomes a part of the family character. The Eng- 
lish wife rarely goes off to a watering-place by herself, where 
unlimited flirtation becomes the rule, and remediless demoraliza- 
tion a not uncommon result. As a general thing the family here 
is one, when at home or out in the world. It is not the wife, or 
the husband, or the daughter, who goes off on a journey to the 
mountains or the seaside, but they all go together, as a family, 
as one. 

One of the jolliest sights to be seen here, on almost any day, 
but especially on Sunday, is a wagon with the family, bound for 
a day in the country. There are the husband, the wife, the baby — 
iand quite often two babies — and from three to a dozen children 



ENGLISH SUAVITY. 59 

of all ages, sizes, aad sexes, packed in like herrings, and all 
aglow with excitement and anticipation! Under the seat is a 
basket, plethoric with sandwiches, cold chicken, bottles of beer, 
and a flask of choice old brandy. 

Away they go, rattling cheerily over the London pavements. 
A proud man is pater familias as he draws the reins over his 
powerful nag and dextrously touches him up occasionally with a 
flick from a whip, long and imposing enough for a six-in-hand 
turn-out. A proud woman is mater familias as she admires the 
horsemanship of her husband, as she adjusts the multifarious 
white wrappings of the chubby, blue-eyed, flaxen-haired baby. 
Proud are the older children as they exercise a commanding 
oversight of the younger ones, whose hats are ever getting loose 
or awry, who are ever on the eve of being jolted nnto the street, 
who are twisting and changing to see this, or hear that, and who 
are ever a cause of profound anxiety to the mature miss of twelve, 
or the lordly boy of sixteen. 

Away out into the country they go at a slapping pace. They 
select the quietest roads and travel along at a famous rate, between 
trim green hedges, skirting fields of barley; coming suddenly to 
brows of hills where a vast panorama unfolds itself of fields 
yellow with ripened grain, green groves glinting with sunlight 
above a maze of slumbering shadows ; low, vine-clad farm-houses 
with their red-tiled roofs, and their yards ablaze with gorgeous 
flowers, and here and there a stately residence, with columned 
piazzas and pointed gables, its stretches of lawn and its winding 
w^alks, bordered with geraniums and rarest of plants. 

By and by, a grove is reached, a halt is made, the jolly load is 
tumbled out ; and all the sunny day the husband lounges, lies, 
smokes beneath the trees ; the children race and romp, the wife 
nurses and cares for the baby, and keeps a vigilant oversight 
upon her numerous brood. When the shadows lengthen there is 
a return. The tired younger ones sleep with heads pillowed on 
each other, and faces veiled by wandering curls ; the elders dis- 
cuss the events of the day ; and, an hour or so after the darkness 
has shrouded the great city, they are at home, and demonstrative 
in their belief that it has been the jolliest day they ever saw in 
all. their lives. 

Such is a fair specimen of English recreation. It is a family 
matter. They go as one; they hunt some locality where they can 
be alone, and remain as one ; and from beginning to end the 



60 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

affair is based upon family unity and family enjoyment as a 
whole. 

Even the English vehicles are characteristic in this direction. 
I do not believe that in all England there is anything like that 
ineffably selfish road-wagon in America, and built to carry but 
one person. The smallest donkey-cart in use here is companion- 
able to the extent of being calculated for at least two. An ordi- 
nary one-horse drag is so arranged with side seats that, although 
occupying no more room than an ordinary American top-buggy, 
it will accommodate from six to eight persons. In fine, the con- 
veyances have reference to family unity, and nowhere suggest 
individual isolation. 

The average Londoner has four or five holidays in a year, and 
€very Sunday, as days of recreation. He avails himself of these 
economical excursions; they cost next to nothing, and are benefi- 
cial in every respect. The railways run trains to the seaside 
whereby a man, for a dollar, can go sixty or seventy miles and 
return. These trains are run on Saturdays, Sundays, and Mon- 
days. A man can go down in the morning, have a dip in the 
sea, have his children play all day on the beach, and return home 
early in the evening. At almost every half-hour in the day trains 
leave London in every direction. Within an hour's ride is any 
number of healthful and beautiful places, at which one can 
profitably spend the day. 

One can go scarcely anywhere within forty miles of London 
without meeting a London family having a picnic all by itself 
The city is full of magnificent park?, in which, especially on 
Sundays, there are beneath every tree, charming family groups 
of motherly women, staid young misses, and romping children. 

Herein is another great point in favor of the English. Their 
amusements are healthful and inexpensive. There is no splurge 
at the seaside, no trips in which the outfits for mothers and 
daughters cost a small fortune. An English family will get more 
health and solid enjoyment out of a shilling jaunt into the 
country, than an American family will get out of a two-thousand- 
dollar trip to the seaside, or the White mountains. 

This getting the most out of a little ; this simplicity permeates 
everything. One never sees an English woman mopping the 
dirty sidewalks with an expensive and useless trail. One never 
sees one on the streets with diamond earrings, or a fortune dis- 
played in lockets, pins, or other jewelry. I have seen but few 



ENGLISH SUAVITY. 61 

"women dressed in good taste as regards colors and fit of dresses, 
but I have never seen any who had the execrable taste to prome- 
nade the streets in a costume blazing with ornaments, and wliose 
value equals that of a small fortune. Herein our English cousins 
have far the best of us. They — even the wealthiest^teach us 
economy at every step. They constantly show us where we are 
spending too much, and spending it for no useful end. The 
amount which many a man in Chicago spends for cigars alone, 
would support comfortably an English family of the less preten- 
tious class. 

Inasmuch as people do not spend so much they do not have to 
earn so much, and in consequence they do not work so hard. 

A fair illustration of the easy manner in which operations are 
conducted is afforded by a coal-yard by which I have frequent 
occasion to pass. There is a canal, and along side the yard are 
four or five boats being unloaded. The force consists of six men. 
Two are carriers, two are shovelers, and two are sifters. A 
carrier climbs down a ladder into the boat, carrying a bag about 
as long as he is tall, and some eighteen inches in diameter. He 
places himself in front of a pile of coal, and next to him on his 
right and left stand the sifters, each of whom holds a sieve about 
the size of those in use in an American kitchen. On the outside 
of the line thus formed, constituting its right and left flanks, are 
the shovelers. One of the latter raises a shovel of coal, and 
throws it into the sieve. The sifter gives it a few shakes to get 
out the coal-dust, and then empties the residuum into the bag, 
which is held by the carrier. In time, the bag is filled, it is 
hoisted on the back of the carrier, who mounts the ladder and 
leisurely proceeds to the yard, where he deposits it— the other car- 
rier meanwhile having taken his place on the boat. 

In excavating for a new building, or removing the brick from 
one being torn down, carts are backed up to a point where there 
will be the least interference with the street traffic, and then the 
debris is brought out in baskets, on the backs of laborers and 
emptied into the waiting carts. 

These are indications of the slow and easy system employed 
by the English. When I was in London in 1874, work had just 
been commenced on a building directly opposite Temple Bar. 
Work is still going on on the same building. The walls are 
mainly up, but, from all appearances, two or three years more- 
will be required to complete the structure. 



62 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

As a result people live longer. There is an enormous grave- 
yard near my lodgings — in fact there is scarcely any lodging in. 
London near which there is not an old and well-packed graveyard. 
I have read any number of the inscriptions on the tomb-stones, 
and liave been struck by the fact that it is the rare exception to 
find a case in which the deceased was less than sixty years of 
age. The ages run from 60 to 95, the average being from 80 to 90. 

In Chicago, for instance, one sees comparatively few old men. 
It is not because the country is young, and men have not had 
time to grow old, but because men are worn out and die before 
they have reached an advanced age. Here, hearty, rosy, jolly 
old men, with active step, clear, keen eyes, and faces free from 
traces of intellectual decay, are met at every step. All the great 
political leaders are aged men; in fact, a man is not considered 
mature until he has reached his 60th year. 

The Englishman, then, is just at his maturity at the age when 
an American, as a general thing, has ripened, is dead, bui'ied, 
and nearly or quite forgotten. 



LETTER X. 

'TRYING IT ON A DOG.' 



London, September 5, 1877. 

"rfir^TRITING letters from London, at the present time, is like 
^^Aa^^ the work imposed on the children of Israel by their 
•^ Egyptian task-masters when they were compelled to 
turn out their quotidian brick piles without any straw. The 
straw is all absent from London. It is now what is known as 
the "cilly season;" that is to say, a season, or the season when 
"everybody" is out of town — or is supposed to be. "Every- 
body " has put brown paper over his front windows and has left 
the city. He is in Scotland shooting grouse or wandering over 
the English turnip-fields popping among the partridges ; or, with 
a checker-board traveling suit, he is climbing Pic du Nudi ; or, 
eyeglass screwed in his right eye, he is staring at the Pyramids, 
or examining the Icelandic Geysers. All continental Europe is 



"trying it on a dog." 63 

so inundated with Englishmen that it loolis as if overrun by a 
drove of zebras. 

Strange that a Briton, who is a very decently-dressed indi- 
vidual when he is going down Cheapside to his office, should 
become such a fearful-looking creature the moment he crosses 
the channel, or steps otf his native soil ! 

But there is nobody in London ; Hyde Park is deserted ; Rotten 
Row is no more cut up by the delicate hoofs of thoroughbreds ; 
carriages with heraldic devices on their panels, and their liveried 
drivers, have disappeared from Piccadilly and Regent street. 
There is no opera. There is no nothing. 

About the only thing going on is what may be termed experi- 
mental operations. This is the time when dramatic authors 
bring out their new pieces — something like what in the 
theatrical slang of America is termed " trying it on a dog." 
*' Trying it on a dog " means, I believe, in the locality of New 
York, for instance, bringing out a new piece in some country 
town like Brooklyn, Philadelphia, or Boston, with a view to 
finally producing it in the metropolis — if it succeeds. 

That's what is being done here at the present time. The 
managers and dramatic authors are " trying it on a dog," with 
the expectation that if the dog doesn't die under the operation 
they will next try it on a man. The dog, in this case, is the hoi 
poUoi who can't get out of town. The man is the swell "every- 
body " who is " streaking the pale air " of continental Europe 
with the monstrous abortions of Oxford street tailors. If the 
dog, the hoi polloi, doesn't die under the experiment, then it will 
be tried on the man when he shall return from abroad. 

Rather cunning, isn't it? The stay-at-home public is credited 
with having just enough sense to know, in a general way, whether 
a piece is good or bad. This method, therefore, avoids all neces- 
sity of experimenting oq the taste of the swell classes. They are 
saved the disgust which might be created in their delicate system 
by the presentation of a worthless piece. In addition to thus 
being spared the infliction of a poor piece, they are saved the 
further infliction of being obliged to endure the friction, delay 
and crudeness inseparable from the earlier representations of a 
new play. The thing is tried on the dog until it becomes perfect 
in action. When the swell returns from the Highlands, the 
Pyramids, or Iceland, the theatrical machine is presented for his 



64 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

patronage with the friction all obliterated, its journals oiled, its 
parts polished, everything in perfect running order. 

But how about the dog, who has to endure all the agony, dis- 
comfort and misery connected with this experimental labor ? Ah, 
well, that is another thing. Perhaps all that can be said about 
that is that he has no business to be a dog. 

There is something quite amazing to an American in a Londoa 
theater, in all its essential respects. "What is popularly termed 
the " pit " — that is, the parquette or tioor, and nearest the stage — 
offers the best opportunity for seeing and hearing, and yet is not 
more than a half or quarter as expensive as the first tier or gal- 
lery just above it. The first gallery is the most expensive and 
fashionable portion of the house. No woman is allowed to wear 
a hat or bonnet in the balcony. Above is another gallery les» 
expensive, and where a hat may be worn. The galleries decrease 
in price until the one next to the roof is reached, which is for 
the populace. Here shirt-sleeves, lunches, bottled-beer and pan- 
demonium generally prevail without limit. 

What is so very singular to an American is the contrast 
between the lower gallery and the pit which spreads out in front 
of it. In the former nearly everybody is in full dress ; while, in 
the latter, the independent Briton of the male persuasion is just 
as liable as not to sit all through the performance without 
removing his hat — especially if it be a silk one and quite new 
and shiny, and generally of a kind which he fancies is liable to 
attract attention. It is no uncommon thing to see one of these 
gentlemen, between the acts, rise in his seat, turn, face . the 
audience, and then go over carefully each gallery with his lorgn- 
ette. Generally the individual who does this has a glass- 
screwed so artistically in one of his eyes, his hair is parted so 
exactly in the middle, and plastered down so tightly to his head,, 
his attitude is so effective, that I always fancy he rises to be seen 
rather than to see, and that he scans the audience solely for the 
purpose of discovering whether or not he is attracting a large 
amount of admiration. I fancy that any one essaying such an 
impudent, ill-mannered performance in an American theater 
would very speedily get a most unequivocal opinion from the 
audience as to what it thought of him and his operation. 

There are various other things about an English theater that 
seem somewhat strange to an uncivilized American. Between, 
the acts a majority of the male population present rush out inta 



"trying it on a dog." 65 

the adjacent lobbies, where there is always a " bar." Whether 
they go there to gossip with the pretty bar-maids — English bar- 
maids are nearly always pretty — or to get something out of a 
tumbler, I am not prepared to say with exactness. To the best 
of my belief both purposes are kept in view, and are faithfully 
and often carried out. 

Another peculiarity is that refreshments are carried around 
through the audience. One can order cream, cake, something 
liquid — almost anything, in brief, except a pipe — which one 
wants and is willing to pay for. The individuals who distribute 
these refreshments are always immaculate in full dress — black 
swallow-tailed coat, white necktie, low-cnt vest and black pants. 
For the matter of that, all waiters everywhere are always in full 
dress, evening costume. I find it very difficult to know these 
chaps from gentlemen — to distinguish between guests and ser- 
vants. They dress exactly alike, they part the hair just the same 
in the middle, both wear mustaches and mutton-chop 'whiskers. 
As just said, I have much difficulty in distinguishing between 
tlje two. After much study, and close, tireless observation, I am 
getting to be able to discover some slight points of difference. 
If the individual have a monocle the size of a small saucer 
fastened in one eye the chances are that he is not a servant, but a 
gentleman. If he have something white in his hand, and you 
can discover that it is a napkin and not a handkerchief, then the 
chances are that he is not a gentleman, but a servant. Finally, 
if you speak to one of them wlio has neither eye-glass, handker- 
chief, nor napkin, and he answers "Yissir," you may put him 
down to be a'n attendant, while if he stares at you, and then walks 
off without any reply, he may be classified as a guest, although 
not certainly as a gentleman. 

It requires much patient observation to get at these differences, 
so far as they apply to theaters, private houses and restaurants. 

In public the English avoid this perplexing similarity by a 
very ingenious and easily-understood system. In driving, some- 
times it is the gentleman who holds the reins, while his groom 
sits beside iiim. In other cases it is the groom who drives. Now, 
in order that the public may make no mistake — which they 
would otherwise certainly do — as to which is master and which 
man, which is earl and which flunky, the latter is designated by 
some mark. He has a cockade on his hat, a plum-colored livery, 
or knee-breeches. By these marks, much difficulty and a doubt 
5 



66 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

as to identity are prevented, and awkward mistakes are very 
cleverly avoided. 

But all this has very little to do with theatrical or musical 
matters. The confession of my ignorance, and the mention of 
theatrical and musical matters, suggests that I have witnessed 
some rather salient displays of English ignorance in regard to 
American affairs and persons that are even more distressing than 
my ignorance of the difference between an English flunky and 
an English gentleman. 

I was conversing, not long since, with an English acquaintance, 
who is a musical amateur of no mean ability, in reference to 
musical matters. After going over some English stars in the 
musical firmament, he asked : 

"And have you any musicians in America?" 

"Why, yes; one or two." 

He had asked the question with about the same air that one 
might ask an Esquimaux as to the growth of sweet potatoes or 
oranges in the higher arctic regions. When I answered affirm- 
atively his look seemed to say: " Oh, aye, of course. Now we'll 
have some Yankee rot! " 

"Did you ever hear of Clara Louise Kellogg?" I asked. 

" No." 

" Or of Theodore Thomas ? " 

"No." 

"OleBuU?" 

"No." 

" Camilla Urso?" 

"No." 

"Adelaide Phillips?" 

"No." 

"Pat Gilmore?" 

"No." 

"Pumpernickel of Calumet?" 
No." 

I gave it up. I am quite satisfied that, in a general way, in 
common with the average Englishman who has never traveled, 
he believes that the only music .we have on the other side is 
nigger minstrelsy, with perhaps now and then a peformance on 
a gong, or a drum with a single head, such as is common to all 
barbarous nations. 

Another Briton " harnessed " me on American domestic life. 



" TEYING IT ON A DOG." 67 

"Tou have no domestic life in America; you have no privacy 

in the family." 

" What do you mean ? " 

" Why, you all live in hotels." 

" In Chicago we have a population of five hundred thousand. 
How in — — do you imagine we all live in hotels?" 

" Oh, I suppose the lower classes don't, you know." 

Here let me say that in English this word " classes," while 
meaning about the same as in America, is pronounced quite 
diflFerently. The "a" has the sound of "«" in father — very 
much as if spelled closses. It is a word in such general use 
here that I have deemed it worthy of special attention. 

There are some Britons whom I meet occasionally whom I 
have designated as "civilized Englishmen." There are men who 
have visited America, who have spent some time there, and have 
a fair knowledge of its facilities and capabilities. But the 
average Englishman, whose traveling experience is limited to an 
annual run of a few weeks on the continent, is usually an unmit- 
igated ass as well as idiot, with reference to all matters pertain, 
ing to America. He not only knows nothing of America, but he 
doesn't wish to know anything. He has a general impression 
that it is a half-civilized country where banks are always burst- 
ing, and where railway accidents, swindling land schemes and 
peculating officials are the rule. America and Americans as he 
learned them in " Martin Chuzzlewit," are the America and 
Americans that he knows, and he doesn't wish to believe in 
anything else. 

A letter in the London Times appeared a few days ago from 
the pen of some eminent professor — Colquhon, I think. He was 
discussing the pronunciation of Greek and Latin, which, he said, 
had been lost. To illustrate the changes in pronunciation, he 
pointed out that various words transferred to other countries lose 
their original pronunciation. As an illustration he instanced 
" Europe " and " genuine," which, he said, in North America are 
universally pronounced Eu-rope and gen-u-«»e. Now, I'll venture 
the assertion that there are not five people in America who ever 
heard "Europe" pronounced Eu-rope; and that there is not one 
educated person in America who ever spoke of " genuine " as 
gen-u-'we. Yet this old ass thus ventilates his ignorance, and the 
British public believe what he says, and languidly reflects: 
"Aw — what a beastly people, aw — these Americans are, you 
knaaw." 



€8 SKEl'CHES BEYOND THE SEA 

LETTER XI. 

THE world's metropolis. 

London, Sept. 13, 1877. 

^Ip-T^EW people, even those who are born and raised here,. 
t!jj|> know or appreciate the immensity of London. I have 
'~-*-^^ repeatedly called the attention of Englishmen to this or 
that notable feature, and have often found that the thing in question 
was as strange to them as if they had never heard of the British 
metropolis. For instance, on Fleet street, just beyond or within 
Temple Bar, is a queer old building, which projects over into 
the street, above its lower story. Its evident antiquity, its gilded, 
albeit faded and battered, ornamentation, its unique architecture, 
all unite to render it a most notable and noticeable building. I 
very soon learned that it was once the residence of Cardinal 
Wolsey, although now, alas, devoted to the vulgar uses of shav- 
ing, shampooing and hair-cutting. It is situated on one of the 
main streets leading to and from the business centre of London 
— the Bank of England. More people pass it every twenty-four 
hours than along any thoroughfare in London. 
One dsij, on a 'bus, I called an Englishman's attention to it: 
" Well, now, I must say," he said, " I have lived in Lon- 
don forty years, and I've passed that building twice a day, at 
least, for a quarter of a century, and I never before knew what it 
was." To add to the singularity of this admission, is the fact 
that, in large, conspicuous letters, across the front, and just be- 
neath the cornice, appear the names of Cardinal Wolsey and 
Henry VIII., and the announcement that it was formerly their 
palace. As a matter of experiment, I have often since asked 
some Englishmen the name of the queer structure, as we passed 
it, and yet I have found but two residents who know its history. 
The same thing has occurred in many other cases. Sometime 
after my arrival, I started out to hunt up the church, St. Barthol- 
omew the Grand, and of whose existence I had learned when a 
boy in pouring over those spicy narrations relating to the burn- 
ing of various gentlemen during the reign of " Bloody Queen 
Mary." Here something over two hundred persons were burned, 
with their faces turned toward the church of St. Bartholomew, 
at whose entrance, according to the dramatic history aforesaid, 
the prior stood and overlooked the jolly spectacle of roasting 



THE world's metropolis. 69 

the enemies of the church. Here it was, I believe, that John 
Rogers, so afflicted with children and heresy, underwent the 
process of being cremated in defense of his faith, or as an expia- 
tion of his heresy ; and here, in the open space in front of the 
cliurch, was strucls; down and slain that doughty but short-lived 
rebel, Wat Tyler. 

I remembered that St. Bartholomew was in Smithfleld, a por- 
tion of London famous for its executions, its fairs, its jousts and 
burnings. I fancied still an open field with its booths, its fairs 
and its variegated population. I found instead, that a densely 
occupied locality, great markets of brick and stone, handsome 
and lofty, and each occupying an entire square or block, had 
grown up on the Smithfleld of my boyish reading. Paved 
streets, long rows of shops and residences, and the great markets 
had obliterated the Smithfleld of history. 

It required an hour's diligent search when in the district once 
known as Smithfleld, to flnd the church. I made inquiry after 
Inquiry, of people who had been long residents of the locality, 
-and they had never heard of St. Bartholomew the Grand. 

Policemen did not like to confess their ignorance, and they 
-directed me here and there, but never in the right direction. I 
had about given the search up, thinking perhaps the old church 
had given away to the march of modern improvement, when my 
attention was attracted by seeing at the entrance of a narrow 
-and squalid, covered-alley the remnant of a stone arch which 
was unmistakably the work of some other age. It is broken, bat- 
tered, with its arch gone — an arch without an arch — and pre- 
serves only a portion of the fluted stonework above the foundation. 
Happening to glance down the narrow alley, I saw some rusty 
iron gates, between whose rails I caught the dull and moss- 
:speckled gray of tomb-stones. 

Going down to take a view of the old graveyard, I found a 
narrow burial-place, fronting a church ediflce, whose ftigade had 
been beaten and blackened by the storms of centuries, and in 
which I at once recognized the oldest church in London, older 
than the Norman invasion, built at least flve hundred years 
before Columbus steered his prows across the Atlantic, a struct- 
ure which unites the Norman with the Saxon — the Church of 
St. Bartholomew the Grand. 

I shall not attempt to describe this venerable pile, or speak of 
its columns half eaten in two by the action of time, of its effl- 



70 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

gies, tombs, inscriptions and tenants, for such is the task rather 
of the antiquary than the modern traveler. I have called atten- 
tion to it more especially for the purpose of showing the immen- 
sity of London, and how in that immensity may he entombed the 
grandest remains of historic ages, of sublime importance, and 
yet the men and w*omen, the generations who live in and around 
the sacred spot, be utterly ignorant of the fact that every step they 
take is upon holy ground. Here is a church, built when modern 
civilization was undreamed of; when the Saxon kings held sway 
in England ; about which cluster some of the saddest memories 
connected with the bloody record of Christian intolerance; in 
whose walls Hogarth was christened; and whose every black- 
ened stone, could it speak and relate what it has seen, would fill 
.our libraries with volumes of recitals of monstrous crimes, 
resplendent chivalry, heart-sickening events and many a myriad 
occurrences connected with the slow and painfal evolution of 
civilization from semi-barbarism, and toleration from bigotry — 
here is such a structure, and of the dense thousands who live 
within the sound of its bells, scarcely one knows its history, and 
few even know its name. 

The atom known as the individual never feels his littleness so 
much as when in London — one of the millions who compose its 
mighty population. The stranger here is in the midst of a su- 
preme isolation — he is as alone, as bereft of companionship, as 
much a wretched, lonely nothing, as if the dust which the wind 
tosses in his eyes were that of the central Sahara. One may for 
months occupy a room and meet every day, or a dozen times a 
day, the person who occupies the next room, and each know 
nothing, care nothing for the other. Day after day, one may 
drift hither and thither upon this mighty inland sea and never 
attract any more attention than a tiny nautilus skimming the 
surface of the mid-Pacific. 

If one wishes to be a hermit, London and not the Barcan desert, 
is the fit place. He can hide himself in an iron-clad seclusion. He 
can exist, he can suffer, he can die, and the — to him — moment- 
ous fact will never be noticed any more than will the presence 
or absence of one individual drop of water in a storm of the 
hugest dimentions. Even the hurrying crowds on the streets^ 
and the thunderous roar of the thoroughfares intensify the isola- 
tion and loneliness. They dwarf one by their magnitude — ^the 
vast waves of human life dash him about and feel him as little^ 



THE WOKLd's METKOPOLIS. 71 

are as ignorant of his existence, as a tornado of a bit of butterfly 
dust which it may bear along in its tremendous progress. 

I should think that London, more than any other place in the 
world, would be one in which a man would be more inclined to 
cut short what must seem to him a worthless and unrecognized 
existence. 

Every day crowds pass the house where Dickens lived and not 
one in ten thousand knows the fact, and not one in a thousand 
would think it worth while to give it a second thought or a 
second glance if he should know it. I have stood over the slab 
which marks the grave of Goldsmith. It is worn deeply by the 
millions of careless feet that have passed over it. The inscrip- 
tion is almost effaced. How many of the legions who have 
made the sombre arches of the Temple church echo with their 
ceaseless tread, know or care that Goldsmith sleeps in the vicin- 
ity, or how many even know that such a man ever lived ? At 
every step one meets the resting-place of the " mighty-dead " — 
men and women who, in life, splendered athwart the sky with 
an iridescent brilliancy that lighted the dai'kest corners of the 
earth, and made the zenith of the ages blaze as from a conflagra- 
tion. 

And yet I find that often their burial-places are unknown. In 
other cases, rotting slates and nearly-eff'aced inscriptions are the 
only record of their resting-place. Over their graves, known 
and unknown, ebb and flow the measureless human tides, as 
ignorant of the sacred dust beneath them as the uneasy ocean 
whose waves roll over the sunken vessel and imprisoned corpses 
far down in its waters. 

Viewing all these things, one cannot help reflecting: What 
use in living or having lived ? Even the remembrance of the 
greatest is speedily effaced, while the disappearance of the ordi- 
nary man or woman is as unnoticed as the fall of a leaf in a 
forest, where, at each moment, thousands are wrenched off by 
the autumn winds and sent whirling down — to be tj-ampled over, 
to rot, to be never even forgotten, because never even known. 

An individual born in London is a thin needle thrust into 
the surface of a boundless sea. His death is its withdrawal. 
Neither his coming nor his going has created any displacement 
or commotion in the illimitable waves. 

As an illustration of the immensity of London and the utter 
isolation of a resident, I may mention a fact in my own experi- 



72 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

ence. I know perhaps a hundred people in London. I know a 
great many others, residents of the United States, whose names 
I constantly see on the central register, and who pass through 
here each week by dozens. On each day of six out of seven I 
traverse London, through its most populous portions, for a dis- 
tance of not less than twenty-five miles. Yet, despite knowing 
so many people, despite encountering hundreds of thousands 
every day, despite the immense distance which I travel daily, I 
have never met on the streets but one person whom I have 
ever met before. Nor have I ever seen, even twice, noticeable 
faces, or carriages, such as will occur in smaller places. In New 
York, or Chicago, there is a man with some deformity, a woman 
with some striking quality of beauty or hideousness, a 'bus driver 
with some peculiarity in manner or appearance, whom one meets 
now and again, until they become recognized, and, to a greater or 
less extent, familiar characters. It is never so here ; even the 
twisted, stunted wretch, who, in tatters, sweeps the crossing before 
your door when you go out in the morning, has given place to 
some other mendicant when you return at night. 

Looking, to-day, among the London crowds to discover a face 
which you saw yesterday, is as vain as endeavoring, on one voy- 
age across the Atlantic, to locate some crested wave which rushed 
by the ship on a voyage made six months before. 

One can nowhere be so lost, so hidden, as in these intermina- 
ble streets and among this ocean of human beings. The very 
multiplicity of things and people has the etFect to prevent their 
being seen. It is often my experience to go five or six miles on 
a 'bus through the most thronged and sightly portions of the city, 
and yet not, from the beginning to the end of the journey, to 
notice a face, a building, or an occurrence. There is so much to 
be seen ; the crowds are so dense and so endless ; the shops and the 
architecture so varied, that one cannot take them in detail, and 
they then become a blurred mass, hurrying by, as indistinguish- 
able as the spokes of a revolving wheel, or as a swift express 
train passing close to the point of vision. 

Incomprehensible as are the living millions of London, they 
are to the dead of the city what a corporal's guard is numeri- 
cally to a great army, or a handful of sand to the vast Sahara 
desert. If I find myself stunned by the innumerable swarms of 
life that fill this monstrous hive of modern civilization, what 
word can I find to express the feeling which possesses me as I 



THE world's metropolis. 73 

attempt to comprehend the dimensions of the mass once animate 
with human life, but which now is dust ? London presents itself 
to me as a place whose foundations rest upon the ashes of innu- 
merable generations. Even the dust of the streets, eddying in the 
wind, seems to possess a sacredness, as if it were a part of the 
deep strata of mortality that underlie the great city. 

Despite the Niagara-like roar of the living, the voices of the 
populous past make themselves heard above the uproar. If I 
may venture to interpret their plaintful utterance, it may be em- 
bodied in the single word: "Forgotten." The omnibus on 
which I ride twice a day to the city rolls over the spot where 
Tyburn gallows once stood, and beneath which Cromwell is 
buried ; and there is not even a slab to designate the locality. 
In a little plat of four acres, in Finsbury, used as a place of in- 
terment during the great plague, where over a thousand cart- 
loads of human bones were dumped from the charnel-house of 
8t. Paul's, where over one hundred and thirty thousand persons 
were buried in the century preceding 1853 — here in the midst 
of this colossal gathering of the bodies of paupers, of pest-field 
accumulations, rest the remains of John Bunyan, Daniel De 
Foe, George Fox the founder of the sect of Quakers, the mother 
of John Wesley, Dr. Isaac Watts, and many another once-emi- 
nent person. What a hideous chorus comes up from out this 
horrible pit, where were dumped like offal the desecrated bones 
of generations of dead, the rotten corpses of pi ague smitten 
victims, of myriads of unknown paupers, and the honored re- 
mains of men and women who, before death, wrote their names 
ineffaceably upon the records of glorious human endeavor — a 
chorus which at once protests against the cruel indifference of 
their sepulture, and a complaint against the oblivion which, in the 
case of nearly all the living, shrouds their hallowed memories. 

Even St. Bartholomew the Grand is entombed among the liv- 
ing, and forgotten. Among all the clatter of hob-nailed shoes on 
adjacent pavements, in the neighboring tenements, whose narrow 
windows are hung with tawdry curtains, and in front of whicli 
ragged and dirty children make the street clamorous with their 
shrill cries, in the filthy beer shops close by, in which brutal- 
faced men and blear-eyed women tipple the live-long day and 
night, there are no indications, no recognition of the grand and 
solemn memories embodied in the time-scarred edifice, with its 
foreground of toppling headstones and effaced graves. 



74 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER XII. 

LONDON JOURNA.LISM. 

London, Sept. 29, 1877. 

jT>p<0]SrDON journalism, like everything else connected with 
illiSj tliis great metropolis, is so extensive that it is impossible 
(5=="" to handle it comprehensively and exhaustively within the 
limits of a newspaper article. Not only is the magnitude of the 
subject a difficulty, but, in some respects, the newspaper office, 
and many of its internal arrangements, are a profound mystery. 

One cannot drop into a newspaper office here, and ramble 
through it led by his own sweet will, as he can through the aver- 
age American newspaper office. One cannot pass beyond the 
advertising office, or counting room, without first writing for 
permission, and which, if granted, comes in the shape of a card 
directed to " the printer," and designating the hour at which the 
visit must be made. 

Under such circumstances, a couple of days ago, I visited The 
Times newspaper building. Of the details of the visit, more 
anon; I simply refer to it now to illustrate the difficulties in the 
way of gaining admission, and the profound mystery which sep- 
arates the London newspaper from the vulgar public. 

The gentleman who acted as my escort evidently felt that we 
were treading on holy ground. We looked through the comjDos- 
ing rooms with bared heads ; we stepped lightly and reverentially 
when we penetrated the sacred precincts of the stereotyping 
department. We stood before the eighty-horse-power engine as 
solemnly and respectfully us though it were a catafalq.ue bearing 
the body of an earl. In deferential silence I stood within the 
arched press-room and listened to the infernal and deafening 
clatter of the Walter presses, as if it were a mighty funeral chant 
over the remains of England's most illustrious dead. 

I know a good deal more about printing presses, stereotyping, 
steam engines, and the like, than does the mourner who con- 
ducted me through the mechanical departments. As I shall pres- 
ently show, the London Times, in mechanical appliances, is far 
behind its Chicago namesake. The latter has all the improve- 
ments that the former has, and a good many more. Hence, I was 
not greatly interested in being shown how a compositor picks up 
a type, or how a stereotyper makes a cast of a form. I wanted to 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 75 

get at the brains of the establishment; to know how the literary- 
work is done, how many do it; but I succeeded about as well in 
finding out as a non-member would succeed in working his way 
into a lodge of Masons. 

" How large a literary force does The Times employ? " 

My bareheaded guide received the question very much as if I 
had inquired suddenly whether his wife — if he have one — wears 
her own teeth, or uses padding in her stays. It seemed to strike 
him as an unwarranted impertinence. I had before exhibited 
none of that profound emotion that ought to be manifested by an 
uncivilized Yankee when shown the marvelous mysteries of 
sticking type in the greatest newspaper office in the world. And 
now I wanted to know, you know, something about the penetra- 
lia, the sanctum sanctorum. He was dumbfounded beyond imme- 
diate expression. Probably of all the hundreds, or thousands, 
whom he had piloted through the printing office, I was the very 
first who was not amazed at every step of the astounding revela- 
tions; and I was probably the very first who, like Oliver Twist, 
at the conclusion of his banquet of soup maigre, had ever ventured 
to ask for " more." 

" How large is the staff of editorial writers?" 

He did not know. 

" How extensive is the reportorial staff? " 
• He could not say. 

"What is the name of the editor?" 

He declined to answer a question which evidently was a delib- 
erate effort to unveil to the world the secrets of the inner temple. 

Quite fortunately, I already knew some of these things ; but I 
pushed some of my questions from pure enjoyment of his amaze- 
ment over the unprecedented occurrence. He got rid of me as 
soon as he could, after I had commenced on these sacred and for- 
bidden topics; and it is not likely that he will soon forget this 
awful attempt to penetrate the sacred secrets connected with get- 
ting up a leader on the Colorado beetle, or penning a police-court 
item relative to some Briton who, in a slight case of domestic 
disagreement, had settled it by kicking in his wife's ribs with the 
toe of his hob-nailed boot. i 

This incident illustrates somewhat the difficulty of getting a 
certain class of information in regard to the London press. 

So far as appliances for the printing of a newspaper are con- 
cerned, Chicago has nothing to learn from London ; in fact, the 



76 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

reverse is true. What would be novel and of interest is the intel- 
lectual department of London journalism — who are the editors 
and managers, what their training, education and temperaments. 
The English have a very peculiar and inconsistent horror of 
■what they term personality. To describe a man's appearance in 
print; to photograph him in type, so that his individuality can 
be caught and enjoyed by the masses, is regarded as a gross 
oflFense. Yet Punch and all the other illustrated papers do not 
hesitate at all \o issue gross caricatures of public characters. 
This kind of a personality is allowable, but to attempt to fairly 
describe the personal appearance of the same public character — 
as, for instance, I have done in the case of Sir Strafford North- 
cote, Disraeli and others — is an unpardonable crime. 

Let a manlike Grant, or some other noted character, appear in 
public, and there will at once be a rush of thousands to see him. 
This is a natural and wholly legitimate curiosity; but to attempt 
to gratify this curiosity through a newspaper, or by giving Grant's 
stature, the color of his eyes, and the like, is vulgar, and not to 
be tolerated. 

Englishmen defend this on the ground that a man's personality 
is something so sacred that no one has a right to interfere with 
it. Now, this explanation is a humbug. The real reason under- 
lying this aversion to touching personality is, not that any 
Englishman regards his personality as something too sacred to 
meddle with, but that he does not wish to appear enough inter- 
ested in anybody else to know, or notice how he looks, or what is 
his personality. One supreme motive in most Englishmen's lives 
is indifference to everybody else. To write i^p a man ; to give the 
contour of his jaw, and the color of his eyes, would be equiva- 
lent to admitting the degrading fact that the individual doing it 
has condescended to notice the other fellow. 

" Let me give you a bit of advice," said a friendly Englishman, 
civilized by travel, whom I met on the steamer. " Whenever you 
are in company in England, no matter where, always act as if 
you didn't care tuppence for anybody present, and as if you con- 
sidered yourself a little better than all the others. As soon as 
they see this, they'll begin to think ' there must be something in 
that chap.' " 

My friend was right. I have since learned that, consciously or 
x;nconsciously, the aim of the average Englishman is to have 
people see him. while he appears to see nobody. 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 77 

More or less connected with this very peculiar view of person- 
alities, is the difficulty of getting at the men connected with the 
management of the press. They are behind a veil which hides 
them from the public. However mucli they might like to be 
seen and admired, they dare not admit it, because that would at 
once show the hypocrisy of the claim as to the sanctity of a 
man's personality. 

Another difficulty, that relating to the almost insuperable 
number of publications, is so great that it is useless to attempt to 
surmount it. Unless one is prepared to write a book as colossal 
as a London directory, one cannot comprehensively handle the 
London press. There is not only a score or more of dailies, but 
there are weeklies as numerous as the hosts of Assyrians who 
"came down on the fold." There is an army of tri-weeklies, 
semi-weeklies, monthlies, and quarterlies. 

Not only has every conceivable branch of industry its organ^ 
but every subdivision of the metropolis has its hebdomadal rep- 
resentative. In short, there is an " embarrassment of riches." la 
view of this fact, I shall limit myself to the grouping of a few 
of the more conspicuous features of London journalism. 

The almost universal rule in the character of the editorial, or 
"leader" writing of the London journals is that it is ponderous, 
stately, dignified, sophomoric, classical. These leaders are usu- 
ally of about the same length — a most suspicious fact as going 
to show that the writer does not feel his subject, and that its 
importance has no reference to the extent of its treatment. 
When a leader on the Colorado beetle, and another on the polit- 
ical condition of Europe, and a third on bicycles, are all precisely 
the same length, it is not difficult to conceive that the writer aims 
at measurement rather than forcible effect. Of course, any one 
outside the profession can readily appreciate that, where a cer- 
tain length is always aimed at, the more important subjects will 
not be exhaustively treated, while the less important ones will be 
stretched beyond a proper length. 

That leaders are furnished by the yard is further seen in the 
very natural consequence that they are never swift, impetuous, 
impassioned. There is the difference between them and articles 
written by one who feels intensely what he writes, that there is 
between some canal, whose waters are always tranquil and whose 
banks are always the same distance apart, and some river which 
rolls on resistlessly, now in a narrow channel, again between two 



"78 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

banks which widen away, hut which is never stagnant, and 
always full of motion, energy, and resistless force. • 

There is occasionally some evidence of feeling in the utterances 
of The News and The Spectator, when they have to comment on 
some extraordinary horror occurring on the battle-fields — but 
even in this case their feeling, their passionateness, is a matter of 
about so many inches or feet of writing, and nothing beyond. 

It must be a curious thing for a writer to be logical, appealing, 
historical, argumentative, by lineal measurement! One reason 
for this class of product is found in the fact that the journals 
here do not, as a general thing, organize editorial staffs, as is done 
in the case of American journals. The men who do the leader 
writing do not belong to the paper for which they write. They 
are men about town who may furnish leaders for a half dozen 
different papers, all of varying views. That they write by the 
yard is the inevitable result of being paid by the yard. 

A man who is employed on one paper, who becomes identified 
with its aims, and sympathetic with its views, will invariably 
write under the inspiration of feeling. There is the difference 
between his work and that of one employed by the piece, and 
writing for a half dozen journals, that there is between a soldier 
who fights in the defense of his own country, liberty, and fire- 
side, and a mercenary who battles solely for . pay, and without 
reference to the side for which he draws his sword. 

As editorials are written without feeling, they are invariably 
without any of the personalities of American journalism. No 
journal ever alludes to the editor of any other journal, Herein 
there rests a profound, undisturbed impersonality. Of course, 
this fact is often the subject of felicitous mention by the English 
newspaper; and it contrasts itself most admiringly with the 
American newspaper in this particular. It is a virtue, a blessing, 
a most desirable thing, beyond any question. However, I am not 
inclined to believe that, in its origin, this lack of personality is 
so very commendable. In the first place, a paid writer, having 
no prominent connection with the journal for which he writes, 
would not be likely to have any very strong feeling against the 
editor of any other paper. In the next place, he does not know 
who the editor of the other paper is, and finally, if he did know, 
and had every possible desire to be personal, he would not, 
because that would violate a cardinal rule in an Englishman's 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 79 

conduct, and whicli is : Never seem lo know that any other fel- 
low has an existence. 

In the direction of news enterprise, as a general, and, perhaps, 
as a universal thing, the London press is behind the metropolitan 
press of America. In the matter of telegraphic news. The Chi- 
cago Times incurs a much greater outlay annually than any paper, 
or, perhaps, any two papers in London, 

Not only is the outlay larger, but the quantity of news is also 
larger. I am quite certain that the Chicago paper gives every 
day more news from the Russo-Turkish war than tlie London 
Times. 

In estimating the comparative enterprise of these two jour- 
nals, there are one or two very important facts to be considered. 
In what may be termed inland news — that is, news from Great 
Britain and Ireland — not only is telegraphing vastly cheaper 
than in America, within the same radius, but the frequency and 
speed of railway trains, in a very great number of cases, permits 
sending news by letter. Anywhere within one hundred, or one 
hundred and fifty miles of London, it is possible to forward infor- 
mation hj mail up to 8, 9, or 10 o'clock at night. To a certain 
extent the same is true of continental news, or certain portions 
of the continent. Paris is only seven or eight hours from Lon- 
don, and hence it is possible to send news by mail as late as 4 or 
5 o'clock p. M. of each day. 

The mail facilities, in connection with the fact that telegraph- 
ing here costs less than one-half what it does at home, render 
the getting of news much more easy and less expensive than 
in America. It costs only twenty-five cents, at full rates, to 
send twenty words to any part of London, or any part of the 
kingdom. The press rates are much less. 

A journalist is not very favorably impressed with the com- 
pleteness or kind of news furnished by the London press. There 
is no attempt, as in the case of The Chicago Times, to have each 
issue a microcosm, in which one finds all the salient occurrences 
of the world, for the previous twenty-four hours. 

A veiy prominent judicial investigation may not be noticed 
at all ; a fire in which six people are burned will be disposed 
of in five lines, while a bicycle race will be given a column. An 
atrocious murder docs well if it gets six lines of minion, while 
the laying of the cornerstone of a new school-building is badly- 
treated if it does not get a couple of columns of brevier. 



80 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

By far the most enterprising of the London dailies in the mat- 
ter of war news is The Daily News. Its accounts are not only the 
best in quality, the most clear, complete, and best written, but 
they are the first to get before the public. Its account of the first 
Russian repulse at Plevna was not only a model in its superior 
descriptive writing, but also in its comprehensiveness and per- 
fect accuracy. It was published witliin forty-eight hours after 
the battle ; it cost over £100 to send it — a fact which has caused 
far more wonderment and discussion in London than has the 
marvelous completeness of the account. One hundred pounds 
for a single telegram ! To the London public the thing is almost 
incredible; and, so far as believed, is accepted as an enterprise 
whose expense is without parallel in journalism. 

"When going through The Times building, I undertook, in a 
gentle and genial way, to convey to my conductor the fact that 
The Chicago Times not only pays out from five to ten times as 
much money for its news as its London namesake, but that it 
also gives daily two or three times as much news from the seat 
of war and all other parts of the world. It was a thankless task 
which I had undertaken. He at once frowned me down, blasting 
my budding efforts with frosty disapproval. From his expres- 
sion, I became satisfied that there is no such journal as The Chi- 
cago Times; and, moreover, that there are no newspapers in 
America, no such place as America, and, finally, no newspaper 
anywhere except the London Times. 

There is something of this feeling prevalent among all Loadon 
journals. Many of them never see any other than the English 
newspapers, and others utterly ignore the existence of an outside 
press, although thrown daily into contact with it. For this reas' n 
there is little progress in the English newspapers as a whole. 
The managers see only their own efforts; they care nothing 
apparently for what others may be doing, and hence they are all 
falling behind. Tlte News is an exception. It is exhibiting 
bursts of enterprise, and now and then an appreciation of what 
constitutes news, to an extent suggestive of the wide-awake efforts 
of the American press. It has even advanced so far that occa- 
sionally it has a mild eruption of head-lines, sometimes commit- 
ting the enormous innovation of putting as many as five display 
lines at the head of a more than usually-tremendous battle. 



LONDON JOUKNALISM. 81 

LETTER XIII. 

LONDON JOUKNALISM. 

London, Oct. 8, 1877. 

fT is a matter apparently of some difficulty to penetrate the 
mysteries of a London newspaper office. I have already 
described a portion of my visit to the office of The Times, 
and liow reverently my conductor showed me through limited 
portions of the building, and how he repelled in a most zealous 
and frightened manner my effort to gain any information beyond 
the ineffable mystery of " sticking type," or taking a cast of a 
form. 

Somewliat the same — only more so — discouragement attended 
my effort to visit Tlie Telegraph. A written request to visit The 
Times met with a courteous response by return mail ; a similar 
request, enclosing my professional card, elicited no reply from 
The Telegraph for several days. I was about to write again, ask- 
ing them to be good enough to return the stamp which I had 
inclosed, when I received a note to the effect that they were about 
to put in some new boilers, and could not receive any visitors. I 
fancy the true reason of this discourteous response was the fail- 
ure, on my part, to possess any certificate of circumcision — the 
possession of which, or similar proofs of nationality, or race, or 
religion, seems to be a sine qua non to admission to the inner 
circle of The Telegraph. 

Its owners are a family named Levy — presumably Moses 
Levy, Abraham Levy, and Aaron Levy, and so on through — who 
are graduates from the well-known Houndsditch of London, a 
locality in which are gathered for purposes of plunder all the 
more detestable elements of the lost tribes. When I add that 
they have been blackballed by every decent club in London, I 
have given all concerning them that needs be known. 

The Telegraph first became known by linking its fortunes 
with the New York Herald in the hunt for Livingstone, the 
Abyssinian war, and the exploration of Central Africa. Thanks 
to its connection with an American newspaper, it was able to 
astonish England with some exhibitions of enterprise — although 
the fact of this American connection is not known here, and The 
Telegraph enjoys credit for enterprises which it did not originate, 
6 



.83 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

and for results which, unaided, it would never have dreamed of 
accomplishing. 

In the earlier days it was liberal, and radical in the extreme, 
and, by pandering to the demands of the mob, it attained a large 
circulation. "When the Russo-Turkish war broke out, it swung 
around to the conservative side, because that side included more 
English people than the opposite, and, moreover, because the 
Oriental origin of its owners leads them to sympathize with the 
deism of an Asiatic race rather than with the Christianity of a 
western people — whom Beaconsfield, in speaking of the "snub- 
nosed Saxon," terms "the still more snub-nosed Slav." Taking 
up the cause of the more long-nosed of the contestants. The Tele- 
graph has struck the popular side in England; and now, although 
the poorest newspaper in London, it prints many more copies 
than any other journal. If the oaths of its owners can be relied 
on, it is now printing an average daily edition of two hundred 
and sixty-five thousand. 

I have termed it the poorest newspaper in London, because it is 
behind all the other first-class journals in the quantity and qual- 
ity of its news In not one single case has it ever given an 
account of a battle in advance of its cotemporaries, except when, 
as has several times occurred, it has given details of bogus 
engagements. Its corps of correspondents not only do not have 
the enterprise possessed by The News and The Times., but they are 
immeasurably inferior in ability. 

It has had several opportunities for an immense journalistic 
thing, as, notably, when it had the only English correspondent 
with the Turks during the battles of Plevna. There was in the 
viewing of the battles from this standpoint, and in the romantic 
adventures of the correspondent in getting through the Russian 
lines, opportunity for such a narration as no other phase of the 
war has afibrded. It was not, however, taken advantage of It 
amounted to a bare, unfervid, bungling account that would have 
done discredit to the cheapest reporter on the poorest paper 
in Chicago. 

In its editorial writers, it has, in George Augustus Sala, one 
very fair writer. Otherwise, The Telegraph carries no weight. 
One line in The TimeSj in the shape of an opinion, goes further 
with the English public than ten colums of The Telegraph. 

The Telegraph, if, as said, the oaths of its owners can be 
believed, prints about two hundred and sixty-five thousand copies 



i 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 83 

daily, while The Times prints less than one-quarter as many, or 
sixty thousand. In comparing this difference, it must be under- 
stood that the former sells for one penny, nearly two cents, and 
the latter for three pence, or nearly six cents. In this instance 
the number of copies printed is no test as to the number of read- 
ers. Despite the difference of the number of copies printed, The 
Times is read by more people than The Telegraph. 

The masses do not buy The Times outright, on account of its 
expense. Nearly all newsdealers in the kingdom rent The Times, 
about their respective neighborhoods, to be read, at the rate of 
two cents an hour. A dealer will take, say ten copies, each of 
which will be rented to from six to ten people each day. Many 
of the London newsdealers, after renting their Times till evening, 
then ship them to smaller country newsdealers, who dispose of 
them at a» reduced price. In this way a single copy of The Times 
will be read and paid for by ten or fifteen people each day; and, 
estimating readers upon this basis, it will be concluded that The 
Times really has the larger actual circulation. 

It is a generally-believed report that The Times refuses to print 
above sixty thousand, because, as averred by the report, it is so 
large that it loses on its circulation. This is not so. The Times 
prints all the papers there is a demand for. There is another pop- 
ular belief that, owing to pressure on its advertising columns, 
it will give a customer only a limited amount of space. This 
again is mainly false. There is a great pressure on the adver- 
tising columns, but a man can have all the space he wishes, but 
in order to discourage him from going to an extent that would 
crowd out other advertisers, he is charged an extra and cumula- 
tive price if he takes more than a reasonable amount of space. 

The office of The Times is located well down towards the busi- 
ness center of the city, although at least two miles from the Bank 
of England. It is near Blackfriars bridge, and but a short dis- 
tance from the Thames, toward which it fronts. The old Times 
is some fifty or sixty feet back from the street on which the new 
building fronts. 

The latter is of plain red brick, with white trimmings, five 
stories in height, and looks very much like a well-to-do grocery 
or paint-shop. There is nothing in its magnitude or finish to 
indicate its being the office of the greatest newspaper in the 
world. A pediment rising above the roof-line encloses a clock, 



84 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

and two files, in stone, of The Times, the thickest of which is 
labeled '' The Times Past," and the other simply " The Times." 

This new building fronting on the street contains the advertis- 
ing and other business offices, on the ground floor. The upper 
floors are, I suppose, devoted to the editor-in-chief and others 
connected with the publication of the paper. All above the- 
counting room is in the nature of a sealed book. I w^as per- 
mitted, hat in hand, to take a brief and respectful look at the 
gentlemen engaged in taking in advertisements, and chalking^ 
the transactions down in big books, but I could get no further. 

Everybody connected with the literary department of The Times- 
is surrounded by a hypothetical brick wall eighty-five feet high, 
and covered all over with broken bottles with the sharp points 
up. Within this sacred enclosure no vulgar eye is ever permit- 
ted to gaze. 

Passing through the new building to the rear, one reaches an 
inclosed court, on the other side of which is a battered, dilap- 
idated old brick structure, which was formerly The Times build- 
ing, but is now given up to the mechanical department. Over 
the rusty entrance is a large marble slab set into the 
brick wall, and which bears an inscription to the e9"ect that it 
was erected to commemorate the exposure by The Times of some 
great fraud of a financial nature. 

It occurred to me, as I was perusing this interesting record, tha* 
if The Chicago Times should erect a mural tablet every time it 
exposed a great fraud, it would soon have its entire fronts cov- 
ered with inscribed records of its enterprise and its fidelity to 
public interests. 

Within the old building are a half-dozen rooms devoted to 
type-setting, stereotyping, and the like. So far as composition is 
concerned, the only dilference between the London Times and an 
American paper is that the various kinds of type have separate 
rooms. Advertisements are set up in one room, minion matter 
goes to another, and brevier and nonpareil to still others. What 
advantage there is in this division I could not learn. 

In one room are six machines for setting type. I was very anx- 
ious to examine their work in detail, but the moment I wanted to 
know, you know, my conductor became alarmed. From his 
point of view, a stranger going through the office should limit 
himself to seeing, admiring reverently, and asking no questions. 
" Whose make are these machines ? " I asked. 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 85 

He didn't know. 

" How many thousands of ems or ens can an active operator set 
in an hour?" 

He had no idea. 

" Is there any economy in their use ? " 

He was not in a condition to state. 

Their cost, speed and the like were all asked after, but without 
result. My guide either doesn't know, or will not communicate 
what he does know. However, I saw tliat the type is fed to the 
machine by flat, upright tubes, each one of which contains a dif- 
ferent letter. A double key-board in front enables the operator 
to set type as if he were playing an organ. The types success- 
ively drop into a horizontal groove, and are pushed along to the 
right, where they are spaced by an assistant. None of them were 
being worked, and hence I could get no idea of their rapidity or 
their value. In the center of this room is a large rack which is 
stored with tubes, tilled with letters, and ready for the machines. 

Some day I will find out all about these machines, despite the 
mystery with which they were surrounded by my conductor. The 
only inference I could make was that they are very compact, 
each occupying scarcely as much room as the ordinary single 
stand with its double cases ; and, moreover, that their use by The 
Times is rather a guarantee that they are economical in labor 
and expense. 

The stereotyping room of the London Times is almost two- 
thirds the size of that of The Ghicago Times. I happened to be 
present during the casting of a form for the noon edition of The 
Times. The time occupied was about twelve minutes ; and which, 
I informed my guide is from five to six minutes more than is 
required to perform the same work in Chicago. 

I found nothing in this department of value to a learner, from 
the fact that in handling a plate, planing, heading, and the like, 
the processes are slower and more clumsy than those in use in 
The Chicago Times office. Here, as in The Scotsman office, which I 
described from Edinburgh, the plates are ribbed ; and, in brief, 
one office is a very exact reproduction of the other. The Times 
has the Walter press, invented by a Times employe, and named 
after the principal editor and owner of The Times, Mr. Walter. It 
has six of them, each of which prints and folds about fourteen 
thousand an hour. It is a beautiful press, but its noise is simply 
infernal ; Gabriel' trump or a thousand-pound gun could not be 



86 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

heard anywhere within ear-shot of one of these machines. In 
respect of noise they are an unmitigated nuisance. 

The Times employs almost two hundred compositors. It has 
two telegraph wires ending in the office, from one of which it 
talces its specials, and the other its Renter reports. 

It also has a novelty — so my conductor assured me — in the 
shape of a pneumatic tube some fifty feet long, which connects 
the rooms of the editor and the proof-room. I am certain that my 
amazement over this novelty of a pneumatic tube fifty feet in 
length was far from being what my guide seemed to think it 
ought to be. 



LETTER XIV. 

LONDON JOURNALISM. 

London. Oct. 11, 1877. 

to an American journalist there is something queer in the 
number of editions issued by many or all the daily news- 
papers. Some of the papers are both morning and even- 
ing papers, as, for instance, The Standard, which appears in the 
early part of the day as The Morning Standard, and late as Th& 
Evening Standard. It issues one edition of the former, and about 
noon enters upon its twilight existence, under the title of the- 
" first edition " of The Evening Standard. At intervals it puts^ 
out an edition, labeling them successively, first, second, third and 
fourth editions, after which, at about 7 p. m., it brings up the rear 
with a " special edition." In all. The Standard has one morning 
and five afternoon editions. 

The Times is more modest, and limits itself to a regular morn- 
ing issue, and occasionally another at 1 p. m., which is termed a 
second edition. It does not go beyond these two issues. The- 
same number in case of extra news is issued also by The News, 
Telegraph, and, I believe, by The Morning Post and The Chronicle. 
The two last-named journals are not very prominent; and, while 
I hear of them occasionally, I have never seen but one copy, of 
The Chronicle, and none of The Post. 

The evening papers are almost as multifarious, having alwaya 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 87 

not less than a second edition, while others run up to a fourth and 
fifth, with the " special edition." 

It is not unfrequently the case that the only difference between 
these various editions is in the title, and not in the contents. The 
first, second, third, fourth, and special editions are often precisely 
the same, except in the single line which designates the particular 
edition. This is especially the case with the evening papers, 
whose successive editions follow each other so closely that there 
is little opportunity for anything to occur. 

In the case of the morning papers, it is somewhat different. 
There is an interval of not less than from seven to eight hours 
between the morning and the noon publication, so that there is 
time for events to occur. In nearly every instance, however, 
there is a difference. Whether intentionally, or because it is 
unavoidable, any very interesting account, say of a battle, is bro- 
ken off at its most thrilling point in the morning edition, and is 
continued and finished in the noon edition. In this way a later 
edition of a morning paper seems a necessity. It is true that? the 
next morning's issue always contains the extra matter, and which 
is credited to " our second edition of yesterday." Of course, 
this serves to advertise the second edition by showing the public 
that it contains news of importance. The News has probably 
sold many thousand copies more than it otherwise would have 
sold, by often reserving the denouement of its magnificent battle 
accounts for its later edition. 

The difference between a regular and a later edition seems lim- 
ited wholly to telegraphic news. There are no additions to the 
editorial, or to any other part, except simply war news coming 
by telegraph. 

A very convenient and economical feature of London journal- 
ism is afforded by the evening papers. All of them give con- 
densed accounts of the opinions of the leading morning press. 
There is an evening paper called The Echo, a folio, which is a 
trifle larger than half The Chicago Times, which plays a very use- 
ful part in journalism. It condenses all the telegraphic news 
from the morning papers; has the Associated Press dispatches 
and brief special telegrams, and presents the gist of all the valu- 
able editorials from the leading morning dailies. The average 
reader who canijot spare the time to wade through all the great 
morning newspapers, finds everything of value in them nicely 
condensed in The Echo. Moreover, it enables such a reader to 



88 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

economize in money as well as time. It costs a fortune to buy 
all the London newspapers, whereas for one cent The Echo will 
give the substance, the marrow of all of them. 

A great many take it as a substitute for all other papers. Again, 
there are those addicted to some particular one of the morning 
papers, because it is the exponent of their opinion, and who take 
The Echo because in it they can at a glance get the cream of the 
contents of all the other papers. 

The same thing is done by The Pall Mall Gazette, whose price, 
however, being four cents, prevents its being as popular in its 
circulation as The Echo. The Pall Mall Gazette, in addition to 
bearing in its bosom the condensed news of the morning dailies, 
has a vast amount of material of other kinds. It is a sort of a 
quarterly issued daily. It has essays, book reviews, and the like, 
in each issue; has no war letters, or special telegraphic war 
news; and is a kind of ponderous twenty-four-pound, muzzle- 
loading gun, which its managers are laboring to employ for the 
light, rapid service required of the smaller breech-loaders. It is 
a journal which has never said a decent, fair thing of anything 
Russian or American. 

The Globe, a two-cent paper, which commences to issue at noon, 
and has several editions, also summarizes the editorial opinions 
of the morning papers. It is anti-Russian; in fact, The Echo, 
among the evening papers, and The News, among the morning 
papers, are the only journals of the many dailies published in 
London which favor Russia, and are not the abject apologists of 
the Ottoman government. 

The London newspapers who keep correspondents in the field 
deal munificently with them. The offices furnish them with 
everything. Each of them has at least two horses, which the 
office pays for, and one or more servants. Forbes, the corres- 
pondent of The News, receives a clear salary of $5,000 a year, 
and all his expenses paid. This $5,000 is in the shape of a 
retainer. He is paid that amount by The News to retain liis ser- 
vices, so as to prevent his writing for any other journal. When 
he is actually at work, then he is paid an additional amount, but 
he would receive the $5,000 were he not to do a stroke of work 
within the twelve months. 

Tlie cost of telegrams from Constantinople is about twelve and 
a half cents a word. From neither Bucharest nor Constantinople 
does it cost as much to get to London telegrams as it does The Ghi- 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 89 

4Mgo Times to get its cablegrams from London ; and it is often the 
case that The Times has more from London than any one of the 
leading London journals has from the seat of war. The London 
papers, considering their nearness to the scene of hostilities, and 
their wealth, do not make nearly as much of the war as would an 
average American newspaper were it possessed of similar advan- 
tages. 

The heaviest telegrams received by The Times and The Tele- 
graph are from Paris; but as these papers have private wires 
connecting them with the French capital, it costs them no more 
to receive four thousand words than five hundred. They pay for 
the use of the wire by the year, and hence quantity does not 
count. The same is true of Vienna news, which comes by prir 
vate wire — that is to saj^ a wire which these journals have the 
right to use exclusivel}^ during certain hours of each twenty-four. 

In a letter from Edinburgh I went over the system of news, 
paper management at some length ; and, as exactly the same pre-, 
vails here, I need do no more than recapitulate the chief points. 
There are an editor and a manager, the latter of whom is really 
the more important official. The former has little more to do 
with the paper than to conduct the editorial page, or " leader-: 
writing," as it is termed. The manager has charge of everything 
else ; and, while he may not give character to the tone or policy 
of the journal, it is he who is responsible for its enterprise, and 
its success as a r^ewspaper. He combines in himself the man^ 
aging editor and business manager of an American journal. 
While he may not say who shall write leaders, he dictates all 
other appointments, and is responsible for everything appearing 
outside the editorial page. 

The ablest manager in London to-day is Mr. Robinson, who has 
charge of The Daily News. He is a wiry Scotchman of about 
forty-five years of age, with a full, red beard, spectacles, thin hair, 
and keen, intelligent face. He is active in his movements, afi'a- 
ble, although guarded, in his conversation, and is, as his face and 
manner alone would indicate, a man of great energy and shrewd- 
ness. By his masterly handling of The News during the few 
months of the present war, he has placed his paper immeasur- 
ably in advance of all his English contemporaries, and has given 
it a world-wide reputation for energy, enterprise and correctness. 

Were his paper on the popular side of the Russo-Turkish ques- 
tion, it would have a circulation of half a million, and all the 



90 SKETCHES BEVOND THE SEA. 

advertising patronage it could handle. It is a quarto, just the 
width of The Chicago Times, about tvs^o inches longer, and has aa 
average of three pages of advertising. Three pages out of eight 
seems an excellent average advertising patronage from a Chicago 
standpoint, but it is small from a London point of view. The 
Telegraph has five of its eight pages crowded with close-set adver- 
tisements; the London Times has rarely less than from seven to 
twelve of its sixteen pages crammed to repletion with the notices 
and demands of the business community. 

Thus it happens that, although under Manager Robinson The 
News is beyond all dispute the best newspaper in the kingdom, it 
receives but a limited advertising patronage, and this, because 
Englishmen advertise in a paper according to their sympathies. 
I interviewed Manager Robinson, but found him close as an 
oyster on all points affecting the inner workings of The News, 
especially its circulation. He declined to give the latter; and 
thereupon, finding I had been repulsed in endeavoring to capture 
Plevna Robinson by direct assault, I resolved upon resuming 
offensive operations by a flank movement. As a preliminary, I 
retreated in apparent disorder from the Gravitza redoubt of cir- 
culation. After talking awhile on American journalism, I 
inquired : 
" What time do your early trains leave the city ? " 

About 5 o'clock." 
" Of course you have to have your edition worked off iu time 
for these trains ? " 

" Oh, yes. We get through at about quarter before five." 
I had captured one important position of the enemy. 
We discussed something else for awhile, and finally I thought 
of stereotyping. 

"Do you usually go to press all at once — that is, do you 
always start a press as soon as the plates are ready, or wait and 
commence the press-work all at once ? " 
■ " We commence working all the presses at the same time." 
"By your process of stereotyping are you much delayed in get- 
ting the plates ready ? " 

« -yy-g ggt along very well. It takes us about three-quarters of 
an hour to stereotype." 

Two more of the enemy's positions had been quietly "gob- 
bled," and the enemy did not suspect it. 



LONDON JOURNALISM. 91 

I gave him points on Yanlvee stereotyping, and so on, and, 
after a time, ventured the delicate inquiry: 

" How late do you keep open for news ? " 

"Till a quarter before three." 

The place was about to surrender, and didn't know it! 

We strolled into the press-room. There were seven gleaming 
Walter presses. 

" Do you ever have any difficulty with the Walter presses ? " 

' Not the slightest." 

' How fast do you find it safe to run them ? " 

"About fourteen thousand five hundred an hour." 

" Indeed ! I'm astonished. Can you always run off your edi- 
tions at that rate ? " 

"Yes; always." 

The great central redoubt of circulation had been turned and 
had fallen. Let us see. News is received up to 3:45 a. m. 
Forty-five minutes are required to stereotype the forms. This- 
consumes the time till 3 : 30, when they go to press. One hour 
and fifteen minutes later the edition is worked off. Here, now, 
is a very simple problem : 

How many papers will seven presses print in one hour and 
fifteen minutes at the rate each of fourteen thousand five hundred 
an hour? The sum total is one hundred and twenty-six thousand 
eight hundred and seventy-five. Making some allowance for 
time in getting the plates on the press would take oflt a few thou- 
sand ; but the above is probaly a very close estimate of The News* 
circulation. 

I have related in detail the process by which I reached the cour 
elusion, mainly for the purpose of illustrating the old saying^ 
that "there's more than one way to skin a cat." 

That The News is a success, and the other journals, in the mat- 
ter of M'ar correspondence, a failure, is wholly owing to the fact 
Manager Robinson knows how to select men for the service to be 
performed. He does not select a man with reference to his social 
standing, but with sole reference to his fitness for the desired 
service. 

The Times, for instance, makes the selections of its war correSr 
pondents mainly with reference to their social position. Its rep: 
resentatives in the field must be military men — nothing less. 
than majors or colonels. Maj. Knowles, Sir Henry Havelock, and 
a similar class of men have been chosen to represent The Times 



92 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

in the field, with the result that that journal has been about the 
most backward of the English press in the quality, quantity, and 
earliness of its news. 

While it does not necessarily follow that a man cannot write 
well because he is an officer, or a knight, it certainly does not fol- 
low — as The Times seems to believe — that a man is necessarily 
a good writer because he has received a military education, or 
because he is entitled to write " Sir " before his front name. All 
of TJie Times accounts, while bristling with military technical- 
ities, have been clumsily written, and often days behind The News 
in giving accounts of operations. 

As stated in a former letter, editorial writers are not an office 
fixture here as in America. The men who furnish editorials for 
an English paper may or may not be professional writers — that 
is, writers for newspapers. They may be magazinists, or novel 
writers, or almost anything else. They occupy somewhat tlie 
position of the mercenary soldier whose fealty is due to the 
power which pays him, during the period for which he is 
employed. 

Suppose the London Times wishes to retain the services of 
Prof. Musty Dryasdust for a leader-writer. The editor sends for 
him, or to him, announces the wish, and if the professor consents 
he is paid a retainer, which varies according to the man 
employed. The retainer engages him for The Times, and he can- 
not write for any other daily paper. It does not, however, guar- 
antee him constant employment. He may have been retained to 
write on will cases, and he writes only when there is a demand 
for an article on wills. A journal may have five or fifty men 
thus retained. Each day the editor decides what he wishes writ- 
ten, assigns the subjects to the proper men, and pays them " by 
the piece." A retaining fee varies, of course, according to the 
quality of the man. As I have been told, and above said, Forbes, 
of The NeiDs, has a retainer each year of $5,000. The retainer 
does not usually include payment for services rendered. Edito- 
rials on Tlie Times are paid for at rates varying from two to five 
guineas each. 

There are sub-editors who have charge of foreign news, corres- 
pondence, local topics, commercial aftairs, and the like, who 
receive regular salaries. An English reporter, who is almost 
invariably a short-hand writer, gets from $15 to $35 per week. 

Some of the London journals set the public an excellent exam- 



AMERICANS ABROAD. 9Z 

pie by going extensively into advertising. There is not a railway 
station in Great Britain, or a dead wall, that fails to have an 
immense board with the words in huge letters : '^The Daily Tele- 
graph, Largest Circulation in the World." Any number of star- 
ing signs meet one everywhere with the information : " Standard, 
Largest Daily Paper," although it isn't the " largest." The News 
has gone to a large expense for signs, which read : '''■Daily News, 
Large Circulation," or '■'■Daily News, War News and Correspond- 
ence." These three journals do the most of this class of adver- 
tising. The Times evidently considers it needs no such aid, or 
else is too dignified to resort to any such agency. 

Excepting The Times, all the daily papers send out with each 
edition half-sheet posters which summarize the news in large 
letters. Each newsboy has one of these, which he holds before 
him, and each news agency has them in front of its door. The 
benefit is great to the public, as it enables a man to know whether 
a paper contains what he wants, or whether there is any news of 
an additional battle, and the like. 

So far as I know none of the London papers are distributed by 
carriers. The mails and the news agencies are the means of dis- 
tribution. One who wishes a paper delivered at his house sub- 
scribes for it at the nearest newsdealer's. Some of the offices, and 
perhaps all of them, have wagons which deliver the paper to the 
local news stands and to the railways. 

I have, as yet, but barely touched a few of the more salient 
points of London journalism. Some time, I hope to be able to 
say something of the men who are prominent in this field of 
effort, and also to be able to analyze more carefully the character 
of the most conspicuous feature of the world's metropolis. 



LETTER XV. 

AMERICANS ABROAD. 

Lo^^50N, October 30. 1877. 

fTT is almost invariably the case that an American who visits 
f England begins his career by being proud of everything 
"* American and English, and ends it in four or six months by 
rather heartily disliking everything connected with both nation- 



94 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

alities. He falls out with Englishmen on account of their 
insufferable exclusiveness, and with Americans on account of 
their want of manners and their abominable egotism, their utter 
obliviousness of the existence of any other fowl or animal except 
the American eagle. 

Of course this does not. apply to all Englishmen or to all 
Americans. There are civilized specijnens connected with both 
classes: Englishmen who are genial and cosmopolitan, and 
Americans who are cultured and well bred. I am not prepared 
to say — at least I am not willing to say — but that a majority of 
both nationalities are ail that could be desired. Unfortunately a 
little leaven will leaven a very large amount of dough ; unfor^ 
tunately I mean in moral similitude to the efiect of one mauvais 
sujet in a batch of a dozen. One bad specimen will spoil the 
reputation of a dozen good ones. One swaggering, swearing, 
impudent Yankee will damage the reputation of the entire popur 
lation of the United States. 

While it thus may be true that the majority of Americans who 
come abroad are all that may be wished by the most fastidious, 
it is easily seen how the presence of an exceptional character 
may give tone to all the others. 

One swindler may leave the impression that all are swindlers; 
one ill-bred individual may give rise to the belief that he is a fair 
average representative of a class or a nation. 

Such a conclusion may be very short-sighted and unjust. Un- 
doubtedly it is, and we have a right to conclude that a man or 
woman is a fool who thus draws conclusions as to a whole from 
the character of a part ; who pronounces a barrel of eggs rotten 
because a single specimen proves to be bad. It is not, therefore, 
as an apologist of English dislike of Americans that I call atten- 
tion to the peculiarities of some of the subjects of the stars and 
stripes who visit the shores of Great Britain. 

England swarms with American swindlers and adventurers of 
both sexes, who carry on a most successful business. Despite 
this fact, Americans are themselves the frequent victims of 
sharpers. I happened to be sitting in the office of one of the 
chief inspectors of Great Scotland Yard, not long since, when 
there entered a young man, son of a well-known family of New 
York, who had a piteous tale to relate of having been swindled 
out of several thousand pounds. It was some simple confidence 
game that he had fallen a victim to ; and my patriotic American 



AMERICANS ABROAD. 95 

ears burned with shame as I heard how* an American had been 
gulled by such a simple and transparent operation. When he 
left I said to the inspector : 

" That chap 's the biggest idiot in all America." 

"Why so?" 

"For allowing himself to be taken in by such a game as that. 
I blush to own myself a Yankee. I don't believe there is another 
such a donkey in America, or out of it." 

"You don't? Well, now, I don't wish to hurt your confidence 
in American shrewdness, but I can tell you something that will 
astonish you." 

"Can you, now? What is it?" and I braced myself up to 
hear I knew not what. 

"The fact is," he said, "that eighty per cent, of all the people 
who come to Scotland Yard to complain of being robbed by con- 
fidence games, are Americans." 

I folded up the American flag and came humbly away. 

I think it hurt my amor patrice worse to hear this reflection 
upon American gullibility, than I have been grieved in other 
cases to hear of the career of shameless and successful adven- 
turers from our side who have succeeded in reaping a golden 
harvest from British tradesmen, bankers and hotel-keepers. To 
be a knave is bad enough ; to be a fool is infinitely worse ; and 
when the representatives of a nationality present decided symp- 
toms of both knavery and folly, it ought not to be wondered at 
that there grows up a prejudice against the entire body whom 
they thus represent. 

However, it is not of our gullibility that the English people 
have any right to complain. They may despise a man who can 
be easily tricked out of his money ; but they ought not to dislike 
or hate him for that reason. American gullibility may safely be 
omitted as a factor of the problem relating to English dislike of 
Americans. The cause of this is something else. Were we sim- 
ply gulls, while all the time we should be polite and free from 
vulgarity, the English people would be very fond of us. They 
like money so well that they would most heartily overlook a 
faulty character whoso only defect would be an innocence which 
could not guard against being constantly swindled. That kind 
of a character would be a most delightful one from the stand- 
point of a very large portion of the English people. 

Thanks to the quality of news published by the English papers, 



96 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

there is a bad prima facie case of fraud and swindling made out 
against every Yankee wlio " sliows up " on British shores. 
Whether justly or not, the commercial morality of Americans ia 
away below par. An English newspaper will give nothing, or 
three lines, to some great enterprise in America, while it will 
devote a column to the bursting of a savings bank, or the water- 
ing of the stock of a railway company. 

All the details of the savings banks' downfall in Chicago ; the 
career of Morton, the Philadelphia horse-railway swindler; the 
operations of Boss Tweed, and Edwards, the great insurance 
thief, are all well known in this country. In fine, England keeps, 
an accurate tally of all our vices, and pays no attention to our 
virtues, either believing that we have none, or else that such 
things are not worth bothering about. As an entirely legitimate 
consequence of the ettect of this class of literature on the public 
mind, every Yankee pilgrim who lands on these shores is sus- 
pected of being a runaway bank president, or some other pecu- 
lating individual who has "left his country for his country's 
good." They know all about Spencer, and Myers, and Edwards, 
and the result of it all is that we honest wanderers are mistaken 
for these people and treated with a suspicion that harrows up our 
souls. 

One can readily fancy that, when every American who comes 
here is believed to be guilty of some grave commercial or politi- 
cal offense until he can prove himself innocent, he finds himself 
unpleasantly situated. What he may feel is not, however, the 
matter under discussion ; the real thing at issue is to explain the 
status which Americans occupy in the English estimate, and to 
show that, in many cases, the English are very far from being 
wholly to blame for their conclusions. I have at least thus far 
shown that, knowing us mainly through reports of bank failures 
and the like, the mass of the English people are not to be blamed 
if they look upon every American, whom they do not know, 
with suspicion. 

In America an ordinary letter of introduction means an invita- 
tion out to take a drink, a five minutes' chat, and a request tO' 
drop in again when it is convenient. Here it is quite a different 
and much more solemn thing. English ideas of hospitality are 
stately and full of warmth. A formal letter of introduction to 
an Englishman always means an invitation to come around to 



AMERICANS ABROAD. 97 

his castle, at 6 : 30 p. m., in a swallow-tail coat and white choker, 
and sample his wines and pass upon the products of his cuisine. 

Everybody who comes here brings stacks of letters of introduc- 
tion. They don't cost anything in America, and, moreover, they 
don't mean anything. One chap gives a letter directed to some 
Englishman whom he met in Kansas and whose address he hap- 
pened to note down. The traveler gets another letter from his 
member of Congress, who good-naturedly gives him a document 
commending him as a very remarkable man and a perfect gentle- 
man, to some English M. P. whom the M. C. met at a clam-bake 
during a visit of the former to uncivilized America. Everybody, 
from his washerwoman to ward constable, is ready to give the 
wyageur a letter to somebody, with the result that when his valise 
is packed for the journey it contains a minimum of clean linen 
and a maximum of letters of introduction. 

Let some man, saj^ in Chicago, announce to ten of his acquaint- 
ances that he is going to Europe, and three or four of the number 
will ask to let them give him a letter to people on the other side. 
The offer is made, in part, from good-natured motives, and, in 
part, from a desire to appear to have an extended acquaintance. 
When our traveler gets here, in place of forwarding his letter by 
mail, awaiting an answer, he essays often to deliver it in person. 
English people are rigid in their notions of etiquette, and any 
violation of its canons is an almost unpardonable offense. The 
simple fact that a man calls to deliver a letter of introduction in 
person is enough to damn him among these formal people. They 
start with the broad assumption that every American is a run- 
away bank president, and, then, when he comes about their place 
of business or their home to present a letter, they at once con- 
clude that, while he is presumably an absconding bank president, 
he is certainly a man who is unaccustomed to the demands of 
polite society. In addition to these damaging conclusions, there 
is often the unpleasant fact that the Englishman has a very faint 
recollection, or none whatever, of the individual whose name 
authenticates the letter of introduction and guarantees the status 
of the visitor. 

It must be seen that the indiscriminate giving of letters to 
anybody and everybody who comes abroad, by anybody and 
everybody on the other side, and addressed to people here who 
are as likely as not not to know the people who give the letters, 
is calculated to have a damaging eflfect on the English estimate 
7 



98 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

of Americau character. From llie American standpoint it is all 
well enough to give these letters, because they mean no more 
than a five minutes' chat, a glass of beer or two, and an invita- 
tion to call around to the office again, and then the whole affair 
is forgotten. But the solemnity and weight attached to the samp 
kind of an instrument by an Englishma,n make it altogether a 
different thing. Hence, it is easy to see a good reason ■ why an 
American letter of introduction has come to be regarded with 
suspicion, and wliy, in circulation, it has about the same value 
that in America, is attached to Confederate scrip or continental 
shinplasters. 

The inevitable invitation to dinner comes, and following it in 
due season comes the American traveler, who, as often as not, 
presents himself in the suit in which he crossed the ocean. He 
is not proposing to stop for any length of time in London; he is 
bound for that American paradise, Paris, where he proposes to 
replenish his wardrobe ; and, hence, even if he have a suspicion 
as to what custom demands, he is not in a condition to conform 
to its requirements. The average Englishman will not pardon 
any lapse from formality. Dinner is to him a sacred affair. He 
surrounds it with as many ceremonials as a ritualist does the 
rendering of religious services. The Mohammedan is no more 
earnest in insisting that his mosque shall be entered with bare 
feet than the Briton in demanding that the solemnities connected 
with gorging liimself shall be conducted in vestments of a cer- 
tain color and cut. 

Probably all cultivated Americans understand this fact ; but 
traveling is not limited to cultivated Americans. Quite the 
contrary. 

However, the fact that one American may present himself to 
dinner without a dress coat is sufficient to damn that particular 
American in the estimate of his British host, and inferentially 
all other Americans of whom he is accepted as a representative. 

Not long since a New York traveler made his way to London, 
and, soon after, through the inevitable letter of introduction, into 
the house of a gentleman of independent means, whose wife is a 
lady of American birth. He came to dinner in a frock coat, 
which excited the suspicions of his host, but being bright, voluble 
and full of anecdote, his offense as to the breadth of his coat-tails 
and the color of his necktie was condoned, greatly to the delight 
of the wife, who is keenly sensitive as to the prevailing estimate 



THE YANKEE ABROAD. 99 

of Americans, and who was extremely anxious to convert her 
husband to her views on the American question. 

She was more than delighted with the brilliancy of the guest, 
who soon won the regard of every one, including the husband, 
by his marvelous conversational powers. 

After dinner, our Yankee hero strayed into the salon to have a 
little homely chat on American affairs with his hostess. They 
were alone, and they had a right jolly gossip about old times and 
old places. Just in the midst of it, the gentleman, absorbed in 
his conversation, drew closer a chair, and proceeded to deposit 
upon it, in the most comfortable manner, a pair of substantial, 
square-toed American hoofs. 

Of course, just at that moment the host entered the salon. 
There was before him the astounding spectacle of an individual 
sitting on the small of his back, with his legs resting upon 
a neighboring chair. He gazed for a single instant on the 
marvelous tableau, and then turned and left the room. More- 
over, he not only left the room, but he did not come back, at least 
until the departure of his guest. 

Now, all Americans do not go into sti'angers' parlors and put 
their hoofs on chairs. This one, however, did, because the lady 
herself told me of it. Perhaps the most melancholy result of 
the whole affair is that the wife has never since dared to lift up 
her voice in defense of the American flag. As a defender of the 
stars and stripes she was worse licked than Mukhtar Pasha by 
Louis Melikoff. 



LETTER XVI. 

THE YANKEE ABROAD. 

London, Oct. 25, 1877. 

fN undertaking to ascertain why Americans are unpopular in 
England, I have already dwelt upon some of the peculiari- 
ties of my countrymen. Allusion has been made to the 
character of the letters of introduction — or many of them — 
with which Americans are armed upon their arrival on British 
soil. 



100 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 




THE YANKEE ABROAD. 101 

"An American," and "an American letter of introduction" 
have become to be synonymous with expressions of contempt 
and worthlessness. This fact is shown in one or two events that 
I have been a party to. There is not a more punctilious people 
in existence than the English. A letter to the queen, from the 
humblest of her subjects, if properly worded, and having refer- 
ence to business, would be certain to be answered by the private 
secretary of her majesty. This state of things prevails every- 
where. Consequently, when an Englishman does not answer a 
letter, it is because he holds it in contempt. 1 forwarded with 
my card and address a letter of introduction from an eminent 
banker in New York to a well-kno\ra lord and Member of Par- 
liament on this side of the water, and of which there was never 
taken the slightest notice. 

Such a breach of manners can only be accounted for on the 
ground that an American letter of introduction is a document of 
so small value that it is not worth attention. Other similar cases 
have occurred, which go to prove that the action of the lord just 
referred to is not singular in its character, but rather the out- 
growth of a very wide-spread feeling. 

London is overrun with American swindlers of both sexes, but 
more especially women. An acquaintance of mine lately went 
to a fashionable house to have about ten dollars' worth of repairs 
put on a dress. The shop mistress, as soon as the 'order was 
given, asked for either a deposit or a first-class reference, saying 
she " had been so badly swindled by Americans that she would 
never trust another one for a single hour." In one dressmaking 
establishment in Pall Mall there are unpaid bills against an 
American woman for some $3,500 — bills which my profane eyes 
have been permitted to gaze upon. The woman in question 
hasn't a dollar in the world, and yet she is one of the best-dressed 
and best-lodged women in London. 

She rents a carriage for which she owes a small fortune. She 
owes grocers, wine merchants and lodging-house keepers without 
limit. She has every possible luxury she can desire, and yet is 
simply and purely a penniless dead-beat of the worst kind. She 
has a fine personal appearance, a lofty, commanding manner, and 
exquisite taste in dress. These constitute her capital, and upon 
them she realizes a substantial income. 

The case of this adventuress is not a singular one. I happen 
individually to know no less than four such women, who are liv- 



102 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

ing here in lavish style, and who do not pay out per annum in 
cash as many pounds as there are months in the year. It is they, 
and their kind, who have discredited tlie financial standing of all 
Americans. I have often noticed a conspicuous sign in a win- 
dow on Bond street, and which reads : " No Orders Talien from 
Americans without a Deposit." Of course this is a flagrant, 
inexcusable afi'ront.; but, nevertheless, it is simply the case of one 
dealer who has been bold enough to express in public what all 
of the shop-keeping kind think among themselves. I have no 
doubt that, did every London shop-keeper dare to be as hon- 
est in the utterance of his views, half or more of the shops in 
London would be decorated with a similar legend in less than 
twenty-four hours. 

It is only proper to say that one who knows all the facts is not 
altogether sorry for these swindled shop-keepers, for the reason 
that many, or a majority of them, do not have the smallest hesi- 
tation in robbing an American whenever they have the opportu- 
nity. Americans are all believed to be wealthy, and, therefore, 
fair game. It cost me twice as much to live when I first came 
here as it does at the present time. An American woman order- 
ing a dress, or a man a suit of clothes, will have to pay from a 
quarter to a third more than a native would for the same goods. 
The cabmen habitually double up on the new-comer from Amer- 
ica; servants give him half services and expect quadruple fees. 
In short, while it is true that London has a limitless number of 
American adventurers who commit havoc in every direction, I 
am comforted with the conclusion that what political economists 
call the "balance of trade " or exchange, is, upon the whole, in 
favor of our thrifty cousins. Yankee swindlers may get away 
with, say £10,000 each year from London shop-keepers, but, dur- 
ing the same period, the London people will collect twice that 
amount from the entire American population of London, in the 
shape of overcharges and exactions, and downright robberies. 

It thus happens that, while from the operations of American 
swindlers we lose vastly in reputation, it also happens that, from 
the same cause, we lose a large amount of money. We are " out " 
in character and in pocket — a very unpleasant double affliction. 

One strong reason for the dislike of Americans is found in our 
adherenc^e to titles. The number of captains, majors, colonels, 
generals and judges who are turned loose in, and who are roam- 
ing about, London, is something frightful, even to a seasoned 



THE YANKEE ABROAD. 103 

American who has known such dignitaries all his life. A Briton 
finds tliat every alternate Yankee whom he meets is a colonel or 
a general, and he at once concludes that anything which is so 
very common cannot be of any value. He ascribes the frequency 
of these titles to a love for distinction, and, although there is no 
man who worships a title more than your Briton, yet he affects to 
despise it, and invariably sneers at its possession by somebody else. 

An "American colonel," or an "American general," or an 
"American judge," is considerably below the average American 
letter of introduction. Even the waiter at a cheap restaurant 
grins in derision as he waits upon a party of four Americans, one 
of whom is sure to be a general, one a colonel, one a judge, while 
the fourth may be a high private, and the only one present. 

Not only is the average Yankee visitor liable to be a colonel, at 
least, but he is afflicted with an acquaintanceship of an infinite 
host of the same class of dignitaries. 

At an Englishman's house, not long since, I had the pleasure 
of meeting an American colonel. Thore were present the host, 
his wife, two grown-up daughters, an English clergyman, the 
" colonel," an American lady, and myself. The members of the 
family are people of refinement and extended cultivation. The 
" colonel " is a gentleman with the acutest nasal tones, although 
from the South. He manages to blend in his voice and idioms 
all that is most offensive in the style of a New England Yankee 
and the nigger dialect of the plantation. His manner is demon- 
strative, his utterances loud, and his self-laudation incessant. 

Now, I am not going to repeat any of the " colonel's " remarks, 
further than to say that in the course of an hour he managed to 
make himself the hero of everything he related, and to " ring in " 
not less than a hundred times something about " my friend. Judge 
This," "my intimate friend. General That," and "my most inti- 
mate friend, the Member of Congress from the Second District." 

Now, as to how hell may be in regard to this class of blather- 
skites, I am not prepared to say at present ; but I do know that 
London is full of them, and that they not only offend and disgust 
every decent American, but they are making, or have made, the 
name of American a stench in the nostrils of English people. 

Coming up the Strand last week on a 'bus, I found a couple of 
Yankees among the passengers. On all the routes it is the cus- 
tom for the omnibuses to stop for a moment or two at certain 
points, in order to permit the horses to " get their wind." The 



104 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

plan did not seem to meet the approval of one of my compatriots 
— a gentleman with a soft black hat with a wide brim, and black 
mustache and goatee. 

" What in h — 1 are you stopping for? " was his opening remark, 
made in a loud, offensive tone, to the driver at the first halting 
place. 

"G — d d — n you, why don't you go on?" was his remark at 

the next place; and "You son of a , I'd like to jerk you off 

that," was his comment at the succeeding stoppage. All these, 
and several others too offensive to even indicate, were hurled at 
the driver in a tone heard all over the 'bus. The blackguard 
did not even have the poor excuse of being drunk. Of course 
the Englishmen who heard his remarks looked upon him as a 
representative American, and his course just that which all 
Americans would take under the circumstances. 

Referring again to the matter of American titles, there is a 
point in it worthy of note, and which will explain, to some extent, 
why so many Englishman look upon them with real or affected 
contempt. 

An Englishman who ranks as a colonel, or a judge, holds him- 
self aloof from the mob — "his soul is like a star which dwells 
apart." The average Englishman can no more get near him, or 
into his company, than he can into that of Saturn. Hence, when 
he finds that an American colonel, or judge, puts on no style; 
that he is accessible and affable ; that he can descend to speak to 
and even shake hands with everybody, the Englishman instantly 
concludes it is because his rank is bogus, and he is a common 
sort of a fellow. If the Yankee colonel would onlj'- go about as 
if he were a dozen or twenty times better than anybody else, he 
would at once command respect. 

Somewhat the same is the case with an American who is always 
bringing in " my friend, Senator So-and-So." An English Mem- 
ber of Parliament is a lofty being, who does not permit himself 
to be contaminated with ordinary friendships, or companionship. 
The average Englishman cannot get within a league of such a 
dignitary. Hence, when he hears an American talking of " my 
friend. Senator Squiggins," he at once commences to reason 
thus: " I am just as good, you know, as that chap, 3'^ou know. 
Now I can't get near a colonel, a judge, or a Member of Parlia- 
ment, you know. If he can, you know% and I cannot, you know, 
it must be, do you see, because he is lying, you know, or else, do 



THE YANKEE ABROAD. 105 

you see, because these American colonels and judges don't 
amount to anything, you know ! " This is really one-half the 
reason why the average Englishman holds American titles in 
such contempt. 

An American major general, who fought all through our late 
war and gained a conspicuous record for gallantry and skill, 
would not rank as high in this community as an English ser- 
geant who has never seen a battle, and whose services has been 
limited to barrack duty and strutting down Pall Mall with a 
small whip in one hand and an inverted collar-box on his left ear. 

The very best thing an American can do who has a title, and 
who proposes to visit England, is to lock up his title till his 
return. 

Americans are an industrious, thrifty set, who go in for making 
money entirely regardless of what may happen to be their rank. 
Hence we have colonels and generals over here who are engaged 
in everything, from offering to tow the island of Great Britain into 
a different latitude, to introducing a patent mouse-trap. I meet 
these titled gentlemen here engaged in pushing Yankee inven- 
tions, in selling pickled beef, darning machines, soda-water, 
canned oysters, — in short, everything. 

A British colonel does nothing of the sort. He goes about in a 
cab, with a glass in one eye, and oozing with dignity and hauteur 
like a saturated sponge dripping water. He never presents his 
card to a British merchant and asks him to try a new quality of 
baking powder, or wishes to introduce a brand new article, 
warranted to exterminate cock-roaches. Of course the British 
merchant would look with suspicion upon a " colonel " or a gen- 
eral engaged in any such business ; the more especially as he is 
inclined to look with suspicion upon any man who approaches 
him and attempts to be sociable and transact business without a 
letter of introduction. 

I miglit elaborate this topic to an unlimited extent. Possibly 
enough has been said in this letter and its predecessor to explain, 
in part, why Americans in England are not popular. As seen, 
the fault, to some extent, is with us. Perhaps I cannot do better 
than to wind up with a few suggestions to Americans who con- 
template visiting Europe. 

Let such a one take all the letters of introduction offered him, 
but, except tlie one to the English banker, let them, as a general 
thing, be burned. 



106 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Whoever has a title, let him before sailing scrape it oflF as 
though it were rust. By doing this he will not only make it 
more agreeable for himself here, but he will avoid making the 
passenger list of the steamer ridiculous with entries, such as 
" Lieut. Jones," " Capt. Jenkins," " Maj. Bobbins," and so on, as 
is done in the case of every passenger-ship which leaves an 
American port. A vessel lately left America, among whose reg- 
istered passengers were " Mrs. Gen. Blank," and " Mrs. Capt. 
Blank " — than which anything more likely to create ridicule 
and contempt on this side cannot be imagined. 

Once here let our American pilgrims, especially of the female 
persuasion, avoid the attempt to force themselves into society. 
The amount of this kind of effort indulged in by some ambitious 
Americans is sufficiently pronounced and notable to attract much 
unfavorable comment, and to assist in discrediting everything 
which bears the name of American. 

The American in England should, as soon as possible, submit 
to be striped in the prevailing fashion, so as to look as much like 
a native product as possible. 

By doing this ; by asking no questions ; by encrusting himself 
with a reserve which suggests a contemptuous obliviousness of 
the existence of everybody, he will, if he does not gain anybody's 
regard or good will, at least escape being the object of disagree- 
able comment and unpleasant notice. 

An American while here should let America severely alone, ex- 
cept under exceptional circumstances. In conversation with the 
ordinary people one meets, any assertion to the effect that America 
has authors, poets, newspapers, telegraphs, operas, ingenious labor- 
saving machinery, and the like, will only expose the person 
making it to derision and contempt. Let the visitor remember 
that while in England all other countries and peoples are infer- 
ior, little known, and less cared about. This, however, is a con- 
dition of things for which the English press is responsible. If it 
ever mentions another country it is to relate some damaging 
news, or to find fault with some existing quality, or contemplated 
act. Boss Tweed in England represents all American politicians ; 
our bursted savings banks represent our banking system ; our 
business men are all George Francis Trains ; our newspapers are 
Keyhole Listeners and Daily Stabbers, as delineated by Dickens. 
Hence, it is far better to not attempt to disturb a belief which is 
not only universally but willingly accepted. 



AMONG THE SLUMS. 107 

LETTER XVII. 

AMONG THE SLUMS. 

London, Oct. 31, 1877. 

f[ T came in due season, and was a massive blue envelope bear- 
P ing the printed legend: "On Her Majesty's Service." It 
^ was lucky that the missive was not delivered at my humble 
lodging-house, for, in that case, my landlady would have imme- 
diately concluded that I had rank as well as wealth, and would 
have proceeded to rob me to the extent of seventy-five per cent, 
instead of fifty per cent, with which she had liitherto been satis- 
fied. Fortunately for my slender purse, it came to another 
address, and escaped that attention which it would otherwise 
have attracted. 

It is amazing as well as unpleasant — the effect upon one's 
dignity and wealth, which the reception of such a missive will 
create in this locality. Rank is at once worshiped and charged 
two hundred per cent, extra among all with whom it comes in 
contact. I escaped this time, but I did not on another occasion, 
the which I shall tell all about at some other time. 

Tlie particular document in question was a reply to a humble 
request on my part, begging of the Chief Police Commissioner 
of London an escort of policemen to visit, at night, some of the 
lower haunts of London. In due season, Col. Henderson 
responded, giving his consent, and naming an hour and place at 
which the escort would be in waiting. 

And this will explain how I was favored with a document " On 
Her Majesty's Service." Her majesty, to all appearance, lias a 
good deal to do with things in this country. She not only 
"runs " a large and expensive family, but also the mails, the tel- 
egraph, the police, the penitentiaries, the savings-banks, the 
money-order office, and too many other things to mention. The 
stern advocates of women's rights not unfrequently, and prop- 
erly, call attention to all that is done by this excellent queen as 
an evidence of woman's capacity for business and government. 
If she gives her personal attention to everything that goes on in 
her name, she is the busiest woman in the kingdom. It would 
be unfair to the sisterhood to state that in reality, she has about 
as much to do with the government of England as the barmaid 



108 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

around the corner, and that her life is passed in going from castle 
to castle, and in collecting the last honest cent out of her ten- 
antry, and in investing her enormous income to the best advan- 
tage — and, being unfair, I decline firmly to make any such 
statement, even if it be the truth. She stands now, in America, 
as the bright particular star which best represents woman's 
astonishing capabilities; and I certainly shall make no effort to 
diminish the clear lustre of her radiant beams. 

It was 10 p. M. of a starry night when I dismounted from a 
Whitechapel 'bus — the guard and driver both called it " Witchr 
ippel" — at the corner of Leman street, and which, according 
to the curious and universal custom in this country of pro, 
nouncing everything according to what it does not spell, is 
known as Lemon street. The pronunciation in this instance may 
be founded on a modest desire to escape using a not very polite 
term in referring to the street. The word leman might be calcu, 
lated to offend the dainty ears of the denizens of Whitechapel 
somewhat in the same way that the term "thief" might be 
objected to in a select gathering of pick-pockets, or a naughty 
Saxon word — which I refuse to name — in a company of court- 
esans. 

After being lost a couple of times, and chasing up every red 
lamp, under the impression that it indicated a police station, I 
finally reached the rendezvous. Three-fourths of the people 
whom I met, and all of whom I inquired, looked like thieves, or 
worse, but they were virtuously ignorant as to the whereabouts 
of the station — evidently laboring under the impression that a 
pretended ignorance of the locality would force the inference 
that they are very honest, virtuous people, who move in re- 
mote and elevated circles, with which policemen have never 
anything to do. 

As if a resident of Chicago would be " come over " in that sort 
of a way ! 

A couple of detectives, in plain clothes, were in waiting, who, 
on my production of Col. Henderson's letter, announced them- 
selves as detailed to act as my escort. They were a couple of 
stalwart, resolute fellows, full-bearded, and in the prime of life. 
As I took in their magnificent physique I was satisfied that, in 
case of a row, they could be relied on to hold any position 
until — I could make good my retreat. 
We moved off toward our destination ; and learning that there 



AMONG THE SLUMS. 109 

was a fifteen-minutes' walk before we could reach our objective 
point, I drew out my guides on matters and things in general. 

They had heard of Chicago. This pleased me. Whenever I 
wish to get at the true inwardness of an Englishman, I always 
ask him if he ever heard of Chicago. If he says yes, I put him 
down as a man of intelligence. Sometimes I meet a man who 
not only has heard of Chicago, but who does not think it is in 
New York city. Him I accord high rank in my esteem. Once 
or twice I have met a man who has been there. Such a man is 
at once a statesman, a scholar, and a gentleman. But, ah me t 
there are millions here in London who wouldn't know, were they 
to hear the word Chicago mentioned, whether or not it is a spe- 
cies of cat-fish or a term used in a dog-fight. Such is the 
astounded ignorance of these effete residents of the old world ! 
And yet Chicago has one-eighth the population of London, and 
bursts more banks in a month than London does in a century! 

Can there be any excuse for such ignorance ? 

" Of course you have a great many desperate characters in 
London?" I ventured to remark, in order to test his information, 
after having already, by the Chicago matter, tested his intelli- 
gence. 

" Oh, yes ; we do have a great many ; and they are bad 'uns, 
too, I assure you." 

" On an expedition like this, you go armed, of course, don't 
you?" 

" Oh, no ; not at all." 

" You don't ? How do you get along with your roughs ?" 

" We have some trouble now and then ; but we never carry a 
pistol." 

" You don't, eh ? Well, I'd like to see a policeman doing Chi- 
cago without a gun ! Why, a Chicago policeman would no more 
think of going out without a revolver and a club than he would 
think of letting pay-day pass without applying for his voucher." 

" Do they have to use their pistols much ? " 

" I don't know as they ' have ' to as a matter of law, or neces- 
sity, but I know that they do as a matter of fact. They use the 
pistol to bring their game down with, and then the club comes 
into play to finish off tlie victim." 

" But can't they get along as well without shooting so much ? " 

" Well, they could, providing they could only induce the thieves 
and roughs to quit first. But it can't be done, apparently ; and 



110 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

SO long as the roughs insist upon keeping up the practice, why, 
our policemen have to follow suit. And besides, there is little or 
no hanging for murder in our place, and hence we rather encour- 
age the use of the pistol among the criminal classes and the 
police, because it has the effect to thin out the bad element. It 
spoils some promising voters, but the general result is rather 
beneficial to society." 

My companions couldn't take it all in, and one of them re- 
marked that " if policemen went to shooting in this country 
there would be some hanging, sure; and not wholly among the 
classes that would be shot at, either." 

Which only goes to show how many things the old world has 
to learn from the new. 

All this time we were leaving the better portions of the city, 
and entering a different locality. The streets grew narrower, 
and the houses older and more dilapidated. The people grew 
more dirty and ragged, the hand-organs smaller and more dis- 
cordant, the crowds more dense and noisy. We passed from 
narrow streets into narrower ones, and thence into alleys choked 
with foul smells, and running over with slouching, lounging, ill- 
favored men and women. 

At every few yards, streams of light from a building indicated 
a saloon, in each of which a dense mob was gathered, pouring 
down gin, smoking abominable tobacco, singing in hoarse, dis- 
cordant tones, quarreling, clamorous, maudlin, garrulous. Among 
them, and about the doors, were women, some young but never 
pretty, some old, skinny, others bloated -^ all repulsive. Many 
of them carried infants in their arms, wrapped in the dirty folds 
of some nameless garment, and which they handled as if they 
had been blocks of wood. Such babies as we ' saw among these 
crowds! Some seemed scarcely more than a few days old. 
Their lips were thin, their faces pinched, their weak little eyes 
winked painfully in the glare of the gas-light. Some slept, 
others wailed querulously, others were being nursed from dirty 
dugs, revealing the flabby, long, misshapen breast of the mother. 

And there were other children there, too. They were from 
half-grown girls and boys to wee things toddling painfully along, 
tugging at the skirt, or clutched by the hand of the mother. I 
never saw so many children as I saw in these noisome slums. 
They swarmed like vermin, tliey sat on the curbstones, they were 
in the gutters, the doorways were filled with them, they littered 



AMONG THE SLUMS. Ill 

the sidewalks, their heads filled every window. All were dirty, 
ragged, unkempt beyond description. Here and there was one 
with a crooked spine, another with shrunken, helpless legs, 
another with some other and more shocking malformation. 
And now and then there was one with regular features, large, 
wistful eyes, and great masses of hair, and who was so beautiful 
that no amount of dirt and rags could obliterate the fact. 

There was something inexpressibly touching in two things 
which I noticed in these little waifs. One was that all seemed 
to derive some pleasure from whatever they were engaged in. 
There were no toys, but from a battered old shoe, a piece of dirty 
stick, a fragment of a brick, or a bit of earthenware, they man- 
aged to extract some enjoyment, and in a sort of subdued and 
plaintive way were as happy as if their toys had cost a fortune. 
The other fact that touched me was their invariable kindness to 
each other. Dirty little girls, themselves but bits of babies, often 
carried a few-days-old infant, and found means also to care for 
another who was just beginning to walk. Little boys danced 
about, with a younger sister, crowing and laughing, astride their 
shoulders. In their humble, narrow and dirty way, they were 
happy — not buoyantly, vigorously, roysteringly happy, like 
children who run and romp in the sunlight and unweighted by 
the burdens of poverty, but nevertheless making the very most 
out of their wretched surroundings. 

In one of the very dirtiest, narrowest, worst-lighted of one of 
these localities, my conductors suddenly turned into a contracted 
doorway, traversed a narrow entry, and then passed through a 
low door into a small room. We had to squeeze between a 
couple of old hags who sat on the door-step, and who made way 
for us with hoarse curses and grumbling. 

At the further end of the room which we entered was a range for 
cooking. A coal fire was burning in it, and a man, ragged, greasy, 
dilapidated, and forlorn in the extreme, was standing over it, watch- 
ing something which seemed to be warming in a small tin pail. 

"Where's Mrs. Blank?" asked one of my escort of a pale, 
thinly-clad woman, who came forward suddenly as we entered. 

" What do you want of her ? " asked the woman, in a supicious 
and insolent tone. 

"Tell her Inspector wishes to see her," 

The name acted like magic on the woman. Her look became 
respectful, and she hurried from the room. 



112 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" What have we here ? " I asked, a good deal puzzled at the 
appearance of the room and its occupant. 

"This," he answered, "is a model lodging-house, and one of 
the curiosities of London." 

" Is it under government supervision ? '' 

" Yes." 

" A.nd are there many in London ? " 

He gave me the number. I do not recollect it, but it is several 
hundreds. 

Around the walls of the room are rude board tables, with 
benches. At these tables were seated a dozen or more men wlio, 
from their appearance, are the lowest, poorest class of mendi- 
cants. They were foul and squalid to the very extreme. Some 
were munching at crusts, others drank from mugs, others smoked 
dirty black pipes, others did nothing, but sat and gazed on the 
visitors in stupid and sullen silence. I had time to notice these 
things, and that the floor and tables were scrupulously clean, 
when the woman who had gone out in obedience to the order of 
the inspector, returned with a middle-aged, harsh - featured 
woman, who greeted us with a stiJBf nod. 

" Good evening, Mary," said the inspector. " Here is a gen- 
tleman who wishes to look through the house." 

She nodded again, and led tlie way into the entiy, and thence 
up a narrow, creaking, modern stairway to the floor above. It 
was a room of medium size, in which are some forty single cots, 
or low, single beds. 

Some of the beds were already occupied. On one sat a man 
entirely nude, who was engaged in washing a coarse shirt in a 
tub of water. 

" This house," said the inspector, who did most of the talking, 
" is registered, is under government supervision, and is subject 
at all times to police visitation and inspection. Tlie London 
lodging-houses in tliese quarters became so bad that the govern- 
ment had to take hold of them and regulate them. Now, when 
anyone wishes to keep a lodging-house, application is made to 
the authorities, and a license is granted." 

" What are the regulation*^ ? " 

" Simply that the premises shall be kept clean and orderly, and 
that only a certain price shall be charged — fourpence a night 
for each person. By paying this price a person has a right to 
the kitchen fire, where he may do such cooking as he wishes." 



AMONG THE SLUMS. 113 

" How often are the sheets changed ? " 

" Once a week." 

"Then they are not changed for each new lodger? " 

" No. I should think not. You see," he said, as he turned 
down the clothing of an empty bed, " that the sheets, although 
far from being very fine, are clean. In order to prevent the 
lodgers from stealing the blankets, which they would be sure 
otherwise to do, each one has printed on it in indelible ink and 
large letters, ' Stolen from No. 258,' which is the number of the 
house." 

We visited a half dozen or more of these establishments. 
Some of them are in better and others in the very worst portions 
of the city, but all are alike in being for the benefit of the poor, 
and in being clean and comfortable. Some of the houses have 
partitions between the beds, which are double, and for married 
people. Others again are solely for women, and others only for 
the use of single men. In the case of all, the kitchen, with its 
range and fire, is for the use of the lodgers. In the case of 
none of them is there any kind of malt or spirituous liquors sold 
on the premises. 

The patrons are the very poorest classes, many of them being 
beggars. Sometimes they arc resorted to by workingmen out of 
money and employment, but generally their customers are those 
who otherwise Would prowl about on the streets all night, getting 
a little sleep in such out of-the-way places as they could crawl 
into and escape the notice of the police. When business is poor, 
thieves find tlicse places of great utility, and patronize them 
accordingly. 

One place which we visited has, I believe, some six hundred 
beds, and the proprietor of this particular place has half a dozen 
others, none, however, so grand as the one just referred to. This 
is a sort of a Palmer House among the lodging-houses, and its 
occupants are quite aristocratic. I noticed some who even had 
on shoes which were mates, while one or two other nabobs 
among the patrons sipped a mug of two-penny at the dining- 
room table, with all the dignity and empressment of a million- 
aire sipping a choice brand of dry champagne. There was 
actually one opulent cuss who was extravagant enough to wear a 
silk hat which was not more than five years old, and whose coat- 
ing of grease was not so thick but that occasional remnants of 
the original nap could be discovered here and there upon the 



114 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

crown. Of course, however, such a lavish display of wealth 
was extremely rare, although all the patrons of this particular 
house wore an air of hauteur — proper to men who were habitues 
of such a palatial establishment. 



LETTER XVIII. 

THE LONDON SLUMS. 

London, November 3, 1877, 

fN my last I gave The Times a partial account of a visit made 
to the slums of London under the escort of a couple of de- 
tectives. In the present letter I shall attempt to give the 
remainder of the visit, although I cannot promise that it will be 
very thrilling, or characterized by any astonishing adventures. 

There was a time when a visit to the London slums was an 
incident of some magnitude, and not unattended with danger. It 
is now, however, a quite prosaic matter. Thanks to the reor- 
ganization of the police force, the dens once the haunt of thieves 
are abolished. There are no more Jonathan Wilds or Jack 
Shepherds: The gentlemen who prowled around o' nights with 
pitch plasters with whicli to stifle the cries of their victims, have 
all been nicely hanged, and have taken their mantles and their 
pitch plasters with them. They have no successors. London is 
no more the London of old, with its chivalrous highwaymen, its 
gentlemanly pickpockets, its "boozing-kens," where the light- 
fingered gentry congregated with their "molls "to spend their 
ill-gotten gains with lavish hand. Modern civilization has wiped 
out all that and left London with a very prosaic supply of con- 
fidence men, sneak-thieves and pickpockets. Hence, if anybody 
supposes that this account includes any experiences with noted 
criminals, they are mistaken, just as I was myself. I was under 
the impression that these noted dens, with their inmates, still 
exist. I was only undeceived after having thoroughly explored 
all the worst haunts of London, under the guidance of two ex- 
perts who know every inch of the metropolis. 



THE LOiiJDON SLUMS. 115 

We finished the model lodging-houses in a very short time and 
then commenced other explorations. 

I may here state that in our visit to half a dozen of these 
lodging-houses we saw plenty of squalor and wretchedness, but 
little drunkenness in connection with them. As we were leaving 
one of them I fell behind in order to examine something, when 
there came into the room an individual with a napless silk hat, 
much battered, with a wide band around it, as if he were in 
mourning for something — possibly a clean shirt. He was a big, 
ugly-looking fellow, with an enormous nos'e, and a greasy suit of 
black, evidently once — many years ago — the property of some 
person in the respectable walks of life. He saw me, saw a 
stranger, alone, with a decent suit of clothes and *a clean shirt, 
and the spectacle excited him as a red rag is said to irritate a 
bull. My escort was out on the sidewalk and out of sight. Fast- 
ening a pair of greenish, villainous eyes on me, he commenced 
dancing about, with his arms and fists in boxing attitude, and, in 
a jeering half-howl, said . 

"Oo 'ave we 'ere? Ho, hit's the Prince o' Wales. The Prince 
o' Wales jest kim to pay us a little visit! Kind o' yer royal 
'ighness to kim 'ere! Ho, yes, jolly kind o' yer royal 'ighness! " 

All the time he was dancing about, making passes at me witli 
a pair of very dirty bunches of knuckles, and gradually closing 
in on me. I confess to not enjoying the prospect. He was twice 
as big as I, a muscular scoundrel, and evidently laboring under 
an attack of delirium tremens in an incipient stage. He man- 
aged to keep between me and the door, so that there was no 
chance to run for it. I had no weapon, and, as for clinching 
with him, I would as soon thought of hugging a night scavenger 
up to his eyes in — business. 

I was unwilling to fight and unable to run away. Several 
torpid mendicants sat about the room, who, while evincing no 
extraordinary interest in the affair, evidently sympathized with 
the attacking party; and, hence, I had nothing to hope from 
them. I had just made up my mind that I was about to get a 
tremendous licking, when my friend suddenly paused, dropped 
his arms, and then humbly and hurriedly slouched out through 
a side door and disappeared. Amazed at my deliverance, I turned 
to look for its cause, and saw my escort coming back in search 
of me. I felt as much relieved as Wellington when he was rein- 
forced by Blucher. 



116 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

This was the only speck of war on our horizon, althougli we 
saw any number of figlits on tlie streets during our progress. 
Pugilistic encounters are so common in London as to attract very 
little attention. No longer ago than last night I attended Covent 
Garden to listen to one of Arditi's promenade concerts. The 
lower floor is cleared of seats and is used for promenaders. Ex- 
actly in the middle of the performance of one of Mendelssohn's 
most plaintive symphonies, two individuals got into a discussion 
and very shortly came to blows. They fought for full five minutes, 
in full view of all the audience in the upper tiers and of a dense 
crowd who surrounded them. There was no loud talking or 
oaths, or excitement. The crowd closed about the combatants 
and watched* the battle without emotion. Finally there was a 
clinch, a brief struggle, a fall, and the fight was over. 

During its progress not a fiddler missed a note. There was no 
perceptible excitement. There was a policeman not more than 
twenty feet from the fight, who gave it no attention. Both men, 
as well as I could judge, were respectable; that is to say, they 
were well dressed and well appearing as to faces. 

"Do you have such things in Chicago?" asked my com- 
panion. 

" No, not that I have ever seen. Such an affair in Chicago 
would have some different features. There would be some loud 
oaths, one pistol shot, perhaps two, and the thing would be over 
in ten seconds." 

Every few moments, as we passed through the streets, there 
was a fight. There would be a rush toward the combatants, and a 
dense black mass whose center seemed to writhe and twist about 
like the central point in a whirlwind. My guides scarcely took 
the trouble to even glance toward these assemblages. They 
seemed to regard an occurrence in which a couple of the mob 
were mauling each other with the most supreme indifference. 

In curious, dirty, tortuous streets we pushed ahead until we 
finally reached the neighborhood of the Thames. At short inter- 
vals there were houses from out of which there came the sound 
of music, and into one of these we entered. 

It was a low, narrow, foul-smelling kennel. In front was the 
inevitable bar, presided over by some brazen-faced and pers'piring 
females, who were kept busy by a dense and thirsty throng of all 
colors, ages and sexes, in front of the counter. Climbing a few 
broad steps, we were in the hall devoted to Terpsichore. There 



THE LONDON SLUMS. 117 

•were a fiddle, a flute and a piano as the " orchestra," and which 
were being vigorously scraped, blown and pounded in order to 
furnish inspiration for the whirling mob that filled the floor. 
We were deferentially given seats with the musicians where we 
could overlook the performance. 

I must say that, after having inspected the worst dance-houses 
in London, I have found them much better than similar houses 
which I have seen in New York, and even in Chicago. In fact, 
I was disappointed with the moral nature of the whole night's 
show ; and about the last thing I said to my police escort, when 
we finally parted, was that London is not so very wicked a city, 
and that if they would honor Chicago with a visit, and desired 
it, they would be shown places and individuals as much worse 
than they had shown me as a thief is worse than a saint. And I 
took the pains to add: "Not only will the show be a much 
wickeder one, but you will be sure to get a ' head put on you ' 
before you get through with the excursion." 

The ubiquitous London police have obliterated all the romance 
of London criminality. The/e were a half dozen men in the 
room who had the inclination but lacked the courage to assault 
and rob us. Two men in plain clothes, without arms and with- 
out any assistance at hand, overawed a mob who could have over- 
powered them in a moment. But behind these two men stood the 
police force of the entire city; and we were as safe as if we had 
been in Great Scotland Yard. Twenty years ago, or, perhaps, 
even five years ago, it would have required a well-armed force to 
have penetrated where we were and to have left without being 
plundered, and, possibly, murdered. 

The most noticeable things in a sailors' dance-house in London 
were exhibited in the first one we entered. The men were of all 
nationalities, and of the lowest and most brutal type; the women 
were the most hideous lot I ever saw together. None of the latter 
were young — all had passed girlhood and many had passed on to 
middle life, or beyond. Their faces were simply bestial in their 
formation, to which long dissipation had given increased and 
revolting hideousness. Their clothing was coarse, their persons 
were exposed to an unlimited extent, which exposure, it seemed 
to me, was a most injudicious advertisement, as it revealed 
nothing but what added to their repulsiveness. 

The men were Englishmen, Irishmen, Germans, Spaniards, 
Frenchmen, Italians, Swedes, and, in short, of every possible 



118 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

nationality. Tliere was a thick intermixture of negroes — yellow, 
sooty, or otherwise, embracing all shades of the African. They 
seemed to enjoy the situation immensely. But even when the 
blackest of them secured the least repulsive of all the women, 
and went whirling about with his sausage lips against her cheek 
and his eyes now and again taking in her bared bosom, it seemed 
to me that the nigger, black and coarse and brutal as he was, had 
much the worst of the bargain, and that he lowered himself by 
the contact. He even appeared a quite superior being when 
brought into contrast with the swollen abomination which he 
held in his arms. 

The dancing was not exactly of a kind ttiat one sees in the 
parlors of quiet families, on respectable streets. There was less 
attention paid to grace than robustiousness — if there be any such 
word. The emphasis of the music was not much regarded, and 
polkas, redowas, waltzes and galops in the "orchestra" were 
transformed into a furious whirl, crash and struggle among the 
dancers. The chap who could clear the greatest amount of 
space after a whirl was regarded as the best dancer. One rather 
decent-looking German carried off the honors. Whirling him- 
self and partner furiously for a moment, he would carry her from 
her feet, and then with a grand tour deforce, swing her, heels up, 
till, in a great swoop, her outstretched body and legs would clear 
the heads of a half-dozen couples of other dancers. 

I am aware that there is nothing particularly charming or 
attractive in this silhouette of a sailors' dance-house in London. 
It would be still more remote from anything charming were I to 
give a tithe of the indecent conversations which I heard, or 
details of the orgie of drunkenness and bestiality which I wit- 
nessed. 

Were such a house an exceptional matter, I would not uncover 
it and invite attention to its abominations, nor would there be 
any excuse for so doing. But these dance-houses are a feature 
of London. There are scores, hundreds, such as the one I have 
just touched upon; and being thus numerous and a regular 
quality of London life, their description becomes a matter of 
duty to one who undertakes, as I am, to faithfully portray the 
world's metropolis. 

After having, as is the custom, " set up " refreshments for the 
"band," and paid for as many "three-penn'orths of Irish cold" 
as were demanded by various hags, who had thirst, but no part- 



THE LONDON SLUMS. 119 

ners, we came away. "We repeated the visit to various similar 
institutions, but except tliat one place is larger or smaller than 
another, there is no diflference. There are the same varieties 
among the men as to nationality, and a perfect sameness among 
men and women as to their brazen indecency and their utterly- 
abandoned character. 

When curiosity was gratified on the dance-liouse matter, it was 
the hour when by law all such places, as well as drinking-places, 
must close. The narrow, gloomy streets which we traversed 
were filled with the people who had been to the bars and the 
dance-houses. The sidewalks and the middle of the streets were 
so full that movement was almost an impossibility. Every few 
yards there was a figlit. Sometimes it was two men; sometimes 
it was two women ; and quite as often it was a man and a woman 
— generally a husband and wife — who were thus settling their 
little difierences. Fighting is a quiet business in London. One 
sees a dense little crowd in wliose center something is occurring. 
One cannot tell from anything he can hear ten feet away whether 
it is a fight, or a man with a patent mouse-trap, or a sick dog. 

Long after midnight, we met women with infants in their arms 
and children clutched at their dress, moving unsteadily along. 
Now and then, in some wretched doorway, was a woman drunk 
and asleep, while a little three-year-old girl, her bare legs on the 
cold stones, slept with her head pillowed in the woman's lap. 
All the night we never lost sight of the children. They thinned 
out somewhat, as did the crowds on the streets, but hundreds of 
them were to be met everywhere. At 2, 3, 4 o'clock they were 
yet around, seemingly as if they had no home but the pavement. 

Little girls, with babies wrapped in their scant dresses, and 
with one or two little heads resting on their small laps, were in 
alleys, seated on doorsteps, leaning against the walls of houses. 
On some of the low window sills could be seen a mass of long, 
yellow, tangled hair, in which was dimly discernible a child's 
face, worn, wearied, asleep. Here and there the tiniest of chil- 
dren went toddling along, as if they never had any night for 
sleep, or pillow, or bosom on which to be hushed to rest. 

Men and women slunk away somewhere, for the streets began 
to empty. The rush of feet, the clamor died slowly out. The 
streets began to be hollow and reverberating. The clatter of a 
pair of hobnailed shoes rang between the narrow walls with ex- 
aggerated repetition. Shrill whistles came from out the gloom 



120 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

of alleys, and went echoing by with a startling multiplication. 
Skinny hags leered at us from doorways, and groups of sinister 
men watched us keenly as we passed, and resumed their con: 
versation in fierce and eager whispers. The echoes of our own 
footsteps seemed those of an army of men who ceaselessly sur- 
rounded us. 

The tide of more presentable humanity seemed to have ebbed 
and left stranded among the rotting hulks of houses a host of 
unsightly objects. All sorts of deformities were to be met with. 
Here an object without legs went hoppiijg along like a monstrous 
toad. Faces with hideous ulcers came suddenly into view from 
out the darkness of naiTow courts. Hunchbacks with shriveled 
legs went limping painfully b,y ou cratches. Children with 
monstrous heads and shrunken bodies, with staring lack-lustre 
eyes, popped into view and disappeared like some hideous jacks- 
iu-the-box. Blind men, with eyeless sockets of a deep, repulsive 
red, went by feeling their way laboriously with canes, which 
they struck ceaselessly against the pavement. 

Everywhere rags, gaunt suflering, dirt, intolerable smells. The 
odors of crowded, unwashed, diseased humanity. Everywhere 
repulsive malformations, hungry faces, scowling countenances, 
listless, apathetic misery. Night seemed to bring no oblivion to 
these wretches. They are the moral and human sewage of a 
great city. Their existence only serves to prove that nature is 
more lavish in the quantity than choice in the quality of her 
productions. 

In a short, winding, dirty street, with low and rotten wooden 
buildings, we came upon the opium smokers' resort spoken of by 
Dickens in "Edwin Drood." It is closed now, although it was 
not long since a reality, as described by the great novelist. 

Close by is a wooden kennel, into whose narrow doorway we 
passed, and then stumbled up a rotten, dark and twisting 
wooden staircase, and thence into a low, wretched room, dimly 
lighted w^ith a tallow candle. At a table four Chinamen were 
gambling; on a wretched mass of rags, in one corner, lay 
"John," the Chinese proprietor of the opium den. He had a 
small lamp near him in whose flame he melted and turned the 
bit of opium required for a pipefuU, and to which he held the 
pipe when inhaling the fumes. His countenance was of a livid, 
diaphanous yellow; his skin was drawn tight to the bones, giving 
him the appearance of a skeleton. His eyes were glassy, with 



BRITISH RED TAPE. 121 

great purple crescents beneath them, while his teeth shone out 
through his drawn back lips like those of a grinning, ghastly 
death-head. 

" John's " customers had all gone home, and so we missed see- 
ing the opium business in full blast. "John" thinks opium- 
smoking not at all hurtful. He says he smokes a hundred pipes 
a day and has done it for years. I sampled a couple of pipes, 
and the next day felt somewhat as a man does who has been on a 
tremendous drunk. "John" does a fair business. He has a 
strapping Irish woman for a " wife." He attends to the opium 
department, while she handles the finances, and,' with a weighty 
hand, keeps order among the patrons of the establishment. 

There was a pallid gray spreading over the eastern sky as we 
emerged from "John's." An hour later, much lamed by a six- 
hours' tramp over the London pavement, I crawled into bed. 



LETTER XIX. 

BBITISH RED TAPE. 

London, November 7, 1877. 

J HE readers of The Times have undoubtedly often seen 
notices of the trial of the detectives, which case, in one 
stage or another, has been in progress for some months. In 
its preliminary stages— what we would term an examination— it 
occupied some thirty days. This portion of the proceedings was 
simply for the purpose of seeing whether or not the accused 
should be held for trial. In one sense it was a trial. All the 
testimony, both for and against the accused, was given ; a heavy 
force of attorneys appeared for the State and the prisoners ; all 
the forms of law were complied with, except that the case was 
heard and decided by a judge without the aid of a jury. 

The present trial differs from the other in no sense, except that 
twelve men have been added to the case. It is being gone over 
again for their benefit, and they will only do what was done by 
the judge who before heard it— they will pass on the guilt of the 
prisoners. Nothing more slow or tedious or useless than this 



122 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

duplicate trial can be imagined. Nevertheless, it is a character- 
istic part of every public proceeding in this country. 

Delay, red tape, roundabout processes seem to be everywhere 
the rule. In the progress of this trial, as in all others, although 
there are employed short-hand reporters, the presiding judge 
takes down all the testimony as given by the witnesses. He does 
this, not because the reports of the stenographers are not com- 
plete and reliable, but because precedent demands it. Before 
there were oflflcial stenographers, judges wrote out the testimony 
as a matter of necessity. That necessity has disappeared, but the 
precedent remains. Judges now write out the testimony simply 
because it was done bj' their predecessors. 

A week or two ago I met at the Savage Club a gentleman who 
is connected with the government manufacture of ordnance, and 
who is the inventor of one of the most formidable guns in use 
by Great Britain. He gave me a strong invitation to visit the 
government works at "Woolwich and inspect the manufacture of 
cannon. In the United States all would be very simple. I would 
accept the invitation ; the gentleman and myself would get in a 
hack, drive out, look through the works, and the whole thing 
would be over within twenty-four hours from the time the invita- 
tion would be given. 

Not so here. In order to visit Woolwich, one must go through 
all the labyrinths of the circumlocution office. I had first to 
hunt up Mr. Pierrepont, the American Ambassador. It requires 
days to reach that official ; in fact, I didn't reach him at all, but 
was referred by his flunky, or " gentleman's gentleman," to the 
first secretary of the legation. The first secretary was not to be 
found, and so the case went to secretary number two. To this 
gentleman I gave my letter of introduction to Mr. Pierrepont, 
and also exhibited notes of introduction given me by the State 
Department at Washington. 

This was as far as I could go in person. The rest of the pro- 
cess is as follows : The second secretary of the legation makes 
an abstract of the matter and reports to the first secretary. He> 
in due course and season reaches the matter, and will make 
a report to Mr. Pierrepont. That official will, in time, get to my 
case, and will probably, if he thinks it worth while and doesn't 
forget it, write to Lord Derby, asking permission for me to visit 
Woolwich Arsenal. When the request will reach Lord Derby, 
heaven only knows, but, of course, the document will have to 



BEITISH RED TAPE. 123 

take its turn with other documents. In three or six months, the 
matter will reach Derhy, and after due consideration will be 
indorsed back to his secretary, and by him to the proper clerks, 
for copying, filing and transmission. Then the reply will go to 
Pierrepont, thence via the " gentleman's gentleman " to the first 
secretary of the legation, then on to the second secretary of the 
legation, and then, after copies have been duly filed, I will receive 
a reply. When that time will come the readers of The Times 
can judge as well as I. I can only say that if I ever do get an 
answer, and it be favorable, and I am not dead from old age, and 
The Chicago Times is still in existence, they — the readers of The 
Times — shall have such benefit as can be derived from a free use 
of the permission to visit a government arsenal. 

Having always taken a good deal of interest in prison reform 
and management, I concluded to take a look at some one of the 
penal institutions of Great Britain. The Millbank Penitentiary 
being most convenient in the matter of distance, I selected that 
as my objective point. At Joliet, if a stranger wishes to visit the 
penitentiary, he presents himself at the door, sends in his card, 
and if he be half-way presentable, or have a half-reasonable 
excuse for his claim, he will be shown through without hesita- 
tion. I came very near rushing down to Millbank and sending 
in my journalistic card, but I suddenly bethought myself of 
British punctiliousness and concluded to write. I penned a 
letter in my prettiest style, reciting my vocation, my interest in 
prison reforms, giving a dozen London references, and sent it to 
the governor of the penitentiary. 

After sufficient time for reference to the necessary sub-depart- 
ments of the prison bureaus, I received an answer from some 
under official, stating that I must apply to some board. • More 
correspondence on my wish to spend a half hour in looking 
through Millbank Penitentiary, in order to see if our British 
cousins have any improvements which I could recommend for 
home use; the result of which was the information that I must 
apply for permission to Right Honorable Richard Asheton Cross,, 
Secretary of Home Affairs for the Kingdom of Great Britain. 

Stunned at the magnitude of the effort required to look through 
Millbank Penitentiary, I am waiting to regain my breath and 
composure before tackling the Right Honorable Home Secretary. 
When I do write to him, it will be with the expectation that I 
will get his reply in time for my next visit to Great Britain. 



124 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Some days ago I determined to visit tlie court at Old Bailey 
and witness some of the proceedings in the trial of the de- 
tectives. 

To go anyvphere in London where there is any officialism to be 
encountered, the best thing to do at the beginning is to go the 
other way — somewhat as if a person at Court-House Square, in 
Cliicago, wishing to go on the North Side, should commence by 
marching down to Douglas Place. In Chicago, a man wishing 
to witness a trial would go to the place of trial, and if there were 
any room he would walk in and take a seat. 

That style of doing business won't do here. It's too direct; 
it's a short cut to a place ; and short cuts are not recognized. 
Wherever one goes, he can only get there by going all the way 
around. And thus, in obedience to this rule, wanting to go east 
to Old Bailey, I commenced by going west to Great Scotland 
Yard. 

Here I was interrupted by clerks and other subordinates. I 
wished to see Inspector Shore for a moment ; but to go to In- 
spector Shore's room at once was not the thing. The card, 
however, went up from lowest to highest until it reached its 
destination, and in about half an hour I was face to face with 
my man. 

Inspector Shore, who is a most affable and obliging official, 
^ave me a card to some official at Old Bailey. Armed with this 
<Jocument, yesterday, at 2 p. m., I presented myself at Old Bailey, 
a court adjoining Newgate Prison, of which both are too well- 
tnown to need particular description. 

There was a dense crowd in the room from out which led the 
staircase to tlie court-room. There was a lane through the crowd 
to the staircase, along which I traveled till I reached the police- 
man who guarded it. He eyed me sharply as I approached, 
evidently intending to crush me ignominously when I got within 
reach. In fact, he had got his mouth ready to order me back 
when I presented the card. He read it all through a couple of 
times as though it might be a forgery, but finally let me in. 

Climbing the stairway to the floor above, I found myself in 
front of the doors leading into the court-room. There was a half 
door, which was closed, and against this, with their bodies inside 
and their shoulders and heads out, leaned two policemen. I pre- 
sented the card to one, who took it with a half reluctant, half 
indifferent air, which seemed to say: "Well, I'll look at it, but 



BRITISH KED TAPE. 125 

then 3'ou can't get in if I do look at it! " He glanced over it a 
few times, his companion meanwhile giving me the full benefit 
of a breath redolent of unsweetened gin and the flavor of an 
ancient pipe. Number one, after giving the card a most searching 
and exhaustive examination, turned it over to number two. He 
read it as if he were inspecting something with a microscope, 
and then after pondering the matter over as if he were trying to 
decide that he ought to "run me in," he said: "Next floor 
above." 

I climbed another stairway, and at its top found another barri- 
cade, and another policeman. Him I gave the card, and he put 
himself mightily to the task of endeavoring apparently to ascer- 
tain if it did not contain some occult and treasonable meaning. 
He labored over it for a couple of minutes and then said : 

"The sargeant isn't here. You'll 'ave to wait till he comes." 

I leaned against the railing and began to wait for the sergeant. 
Evidently I was having altogether too comfortable a time waiting^ 
for the sergeant, for he remarked : 

" You go down stairs and wait." 

I went. 

Reaching the original barrier, I informed the policeman in 
charge that I had been ordered down to wait for the sergeant. I 
further asked him if he would be so good as to inform me what 
particular part of London I could go to and wait for the sergeant 
without incurring the liability of being ordered to go somewhere 
else. He was a kind soul, and with a sudden and wholly unex- 
pected burst of generosity, he permitted me to stand inside, on 
the first landing, and there wait for the sergeant. 

I waited twenty minutes for the sergeant, who, as I afterward 
learned, was absent engaged in the sacred English sacrament 
known as luncheon. Finally the policeman just below me, who- 
had learned to suddenly take an interest in my loneliness and my 
fortunes, said to me as he pointed to the top of the second stair- 
way: "There's the sargeant." I ascended once more to the 
highest floor and handed the card to a party with the regulation 
blue pickelJmuhe helmet and a sergeant's stripes. He read it and 
ordered the policeman to admit me. I went by him and found 
myself a moment later in front of the door of the gallery, and 
another policeman. He opened the door of the gallery, and^ 
indicating a seat at the further end, said: 

" Go and sit there ! " 



126 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" 1 don't wish to stay long. Can't I sit near the door, so when 
I leave I can do so without disturbing everybody?" 

" You go over there ! That's my borders." 

I obeyed borders and went over there, glad to finally get in on 
any conditions. I was about the first one admitted, and fortu- 
nately " over there " was a front bench, which gave me an excel- 
lent view of the entire court-room. 

I have related in extemo my efforts to get in Old Bailey, not 
because there is in them anything thrilling, or even sufficiently 
interesting to warrant the employment of so much space, but 
simply to illustrate the circumlocutory method of doing every- 
thing which prevails in this country. 

The same system prevails in business matters and in private 
life. One wishing to see a man at his place of business may go 
to it a dozen times without finding him in. The only way by 
which a business man can, with any certainty be met, is through 
the circumlocution of a correspondence. If one go without 
appointment by post, the person, as said, will be absent or else 
the visitor will have to submit to the humiliation of waiting, 
possibly for hours, until the other is at leisure. 



LETTER XX. 

GETTING INTO POSITION. 

London, Oct. 10, 1877. 

fN my last I narrated the herculean labors which I performci. 
to gain access to the court-room in which is taking place the 
trial of the detectives. I secured a front seat in the gallery, 
overlooking the main floor. There was room for three more 
men of moderate dimensions in the same seat. This space was 
at once taken up by four Englishmen, all above the average as 
to size. The lateral pressure was tremendous, and I was only 
prevented from being shot out of the seat like an apple-seed 
between the thumb and finger, by a couple of other Britons who 
came up from behind and reclined on my shoulders as they 
leaned forward to get a view of the proceedings. Thus wedged 



GETTING INTO POSITION. 127 

in, and weighted down, I commenced an examination of the 
court below. 

It was the hour which is devoted, by Britons to the sacramental 
purposes of luncheon. While it was in progress everybody had 
been turned out of the room — not because there was any neces- 
sity for turning them out, but simply because that is the way it 
is always done. When from an adjoining room the solemn fact 
was conveyed that his honor had commenced to handle a tooth- 
pick, then we, the mob, were admitted. In two minutes every 
available seat in the gallery and body of the hall was packed, 
excepting those belonging to officials. 

And now there came a solemn, awe-inspiring hush. A police- 
man obsequiously drew aside a red curtain, at one corner of the 
room, and stood holding it, his eyes abashed, his attitude hum- 
ble. Then everybody rose to his feet, and occupied a position 
of respectful attention. 

It was the court returning in procession from some side chapel, 
where he had been engaged in the solemn services of luncheon. 

At the head marched a gentleman clad in a crimson gown with 
dark facings. He was a beardless man, with a good-looking, but 
rather hatchety face, whose head was surmounted by a white wig, 
in whose top was an opening about the size of a dollar, and used 
evidently for ventilating the judicial cranium. Behind him 
came a sour-looking man, with a bald head, and a purple gown 
reaching to his heels and trimmed with fur. Next was a gray- 
haired individual in a dark gown, richly furred, and about whose 
neck there was wound many times a massive gold chain, whose 
loops suspended some heavy golden ornament which lay on his 
breast. 

Behind this gorgeous procession came straggling a number of 
individuals in black gowns, white wigs, and white neckties — 
each gown, each wig, and each necktie being an exact fac simile 
of eveiy other gown, wig and necktie. 

The three took their places on raised seats, beneath a crimson 
canopy. The rank and file, in black gowns, white wigs, and 
white neckties, took their seats in a solid body, near the center 
of the room. When the gorgeous three and the others had 
seated themselves, then we, the mob, reverently took our seats, 
and court was open. 

The leader in the crimson gown, and with the thin, handsome 
face, proved to be Mr. Baron Pollack, the presiding judge. Who 



128 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

the other gorgeous, fur-trimmed digaitaries are, I did not ascer- 
tain. The Englishmen who were reclining on my shoulders 
knew who was who among the prisoners, but had no knowledge 
as to the occupants of the bench. 

The tout-ensemble was contracted but imposing. To my left 
were some raised seats, fenced in, in which sat the intelligent 
jury. An inclined board running before them gave them an 
elbow-rest, or a desk for writing. Directly opposite me was an 
elevated platform with crimson hangings, on which sat the judge 
and guests of honor. The only ornamentation is a very ornate 
scabbard, whose sheathed sword reveals a cross-hilt of elaborate 
workmanship. It is fastened against the wall, point up, just 
behind his lordship; and probably is intended as a warning to 
evil-doers. The body or center of the room is filled with wooden 
pews, in whicli sit the lawyers. Directly beneath me was the 
dock, a large, square pen, elevated above the main floor, and in- 
closed by a wooden fence of such a height that a prisoner of 
ordinary stature, when seated, has his nose on a level with the 
top of the railing or fence. It communicates with the prison by 
a well in its center, which incloses a winding staircase. From 
where I was seated I had a magnificent view of the tops, 
of the heads of the five prisoners, and of the two wardens 
or policemen who guarded them. There was a bewigged and 
begowned clerk of the court in an elevated pen in front of the 
judge's desk; and when I add that back of the lawyers is one 
pen labeled " reporters," and that back of that are a few seats 
rising gradually back to the wall, for the use of privileged spec- 
tators, I have given all the salient features of a British court of 
justice. The entire room is about one-quarter the size of the 
criminal court-room in the county building in Chicago. 

The spirit of the two countries is exhibited in tlie construction of 
court-rooms. We build so that the people have the largest space. 
Here officialism takes nearly everything. The people, or masses, 
do not count, and consequently are left out of the calculation. 

The stupendous mountains of sheepskin literature which one 
sees in an American court-room, even when the pending case may 
be a charge of despoiling a hen's nest, is here nowhere to be 
seen. There was not even a single law-book in sight. Either the 
counsel have the law all committed to memory, or else there is 
no use for any such article. Evidently the latter phase prevails to 
some extent. There was no thundering "I object!" at short 



GETTING INTO POSITION. 129 

intervals, followed by long arguments and the citation of innu- 
merable authorities. It was often the case that one attorney 
would object to a question being put to a witness by another, but 
, in such instances there was never an argument, and the judge 
either allowed it or ruled it out at once. Nor were there any 
exceptions ever taken to any of the decisions of the judge — 
which fact of course arises from there being no court of appeal 
in criminal cases. Owing to the lack of objections and of the 
everlasting arguments so common in our courts in similar cases, 
the English court, despite the fact that proceedings move at a 
pace which enables the judge to take down all the testimony, 
the average progress is nevertheless greater than in one of our 
courts. The progress of the trial is snail-like, but it is continu- 
ous, with the result that a good deal of ground is gone over each 
day. 

There seems to be in a London court of law something 
quite inseparable between justice and eye-glasses. Nobody 
seems to wear them habitually, but on all special occasions. When 
his honor commenced to write he straddled his judicial nose with 
a pair of glasses. Whenever a witness was called on to identify 
a letter, he always commenced operations by solemnly lifting a 
pair of glasses to aid his vision. When the clerk went to read 
any document, his first move was to saddle his nose with eye- 
glasses. When a juryman wished to make a note, he began by 
harnessing his face with the inevitable glasses. Whenever a 
lawyer, or reporter, or spectator, had anything to look at, he al- 
ways initiated the performance by getting himself behind a 
binocular machine to aid his vision. It was not because the 
light was bad, for it was not. It seemed to me that it was done 
because it was the thing to do, and for no other reason whatever. 

Another peculiarity that struck me is the unobstructed em- 
ployment of leading questions. 

Thus, if the prosecution wished to elicit certain facts, it would 
ask: 

" Were you at such a place on such a day?" 

"Did you meet there, at that time, So-andso?" 

" Did he say to you that he saw the defendant, and that the de- 
fendant admitted having picked Johnson's pocket?" 

Now, in our practice, I believe the same tiling would be about 
as follows : 

" Where were you at such a date ?" 
9 



130 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" Whom, if anybody, did you meet there ? " 
" Give the conversation, if any, that occurred." 
This, I fancy, would be the American style, interspersed with 
three wordy contests between the counsel, a couple of legal ar- 
guments, a like number of rulings by the judge, and " excep- 
ceptions noted " all around to his honor's decisions. 

This process of supplying a witness with places, dates, and 
conversations, makes the work of prosecution one of great ease, 
because the prosecutor, with a pliable witness, can make up his 
case as he goes along, only requiring the assent of witnesses to 
whatever he may advance. It is a sort of conviction-made-certain 
method of doing it ; and maj^ to some extent, account for the 
fact that, as a general thing in this country, a trial and a convic- 
tion are synonymous terms. I recollect but one case of a verdict 
of not guilty since I have been here, and that was in a trial in 
which, after the prosecuting witness swore positively to being 
robbed by a courtesan, it quite accidentally came out in cross- 
examination that for several hours before, at the time of, and after 
the alleged robbery, he was so drunk as to have had no recollec- 
tion as to where he had been or anything that occurred. But 
any such deus ex machina does not often " show up " in time to aid 
a defendant. 

The conduct of the lawyers was in surprising contrast to what 
one often witnesses in our American courts. There did not seem 
to be an impression among the opposing counsel that they were 
deadly enemies because they happened to be engaged on oppo- 
site sides of the same case. Their treatment of each other was 
characterized by all the courtesy of gentlemen, such as one would 
find at a dinner-table, or in the social intercourse of a drawing- 
room. The absence of unseemly squabbles, of the ill-tempered 
wrangles of counsel, made me homesick, and was an emphatic 
reminder that I was far from home, and among a strange, a sin- 
gular people. 

My nostalgia was increased by the entire absence of anything 
like the bullying of witnesses. The man in the box was not 
made to believe that he was regarded as a deliberate perjurer. 
The savagery, the indecency of a Van Arman are unknown. 
There seems to prevail here the singular — singular from an 
American legal standpoint — conviction that a man can be a wit- 
ness on the other side without necessarily being a liar and a 
horse-thief, and treated accordingly. 



GETTING INTO POSITION. 131 

I may add liere another noticeable peculiarrty. This case has 
now been some months before the public. It is probably the 
mpst remarkable trial since that of Tichborne, There is not a 
hamlet in the kingdom where it is not known, and where it has 
not been discussed. Despite all this notoriety and celebrity, not 
a single English newspaper has ventured to discuss the guilt or 
innocence of the defendants. There has been no hot conderana- 
tion, no inflamed defense. The trial has been in the interests of 
justice, and not for the sole purpose of influencing the autumn 
elections. 

These are a few things which I noticed during the couple of 
hours I was present at the great trial of the detectives and Mr. 
Froggatt. I would have staid longer, and noticed some more 
things, had it not been for a remark on the part of Baron Pollack, 
which I construed as having a slight personal application to 
myself. 

A witness named Flintofl' was giving his testimony, and did so 
in a manner that, at times, was most ridiculous. At something 
more than usually idiotic on his part, there was a roar of laugh- 
ter from the lawyers and others seated on the main floor. His 
honor at once remarked : " If there is a repetition of this un- 
seemly disturbance, I will order an under-sheriff to clear the gal- 
leries!''^ There had not been a smile from the galleries ; never- 
theless, having heard that in the education of youthful blood 
royal in this country, it is, or has been, the custom to thrash a 
plebeian when the prince deserves punishment, I concluded that 
the same vicarious system might prevail in a British court of 
justice, and that when the aristocratic bar deserved punishment, 
the visitation would be inflicted on the plebeian galleries. Not 
wishing to incur any share in a penalty for an ofiense of which 
some one else was guilty, I folded my teat like an Arab, and 
quietly stole away. 



132 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER XXI. 
cubiosities in london journmiism. 

London, Nov. 17, 1877. 

J[ N many points the London journals present tliemselves as 
f studies of interest to an American. Much of their news, 
"> their editorials comments, a good deal of their advertising, 
are unique to one who is accustomed to the American methods. 

Suppose, for instance, that, immediately after our great fire, 
and when contributions were pouring in from all parts of the 
world, the Chicago newspapers had declined to report the recep- 
tion of gifts except as advertisements — in such a case one would 
have seen what is seen here every day. No greater calamity 
than the Indian famine has occurred during the present century. 
Great Britain was flooded with appeals for relief; and the re- 
sponse has been magnificent — one that reflects infinite credit 
upon the benevolence of the English people. Relief funds were 
begun everywhere. The principal one in London was one Or- 
ganized by the mayor, and known as the Mansion House fund. 
In a very short time it reached the unparalleled dimensions of 
over £500,000, or $2,000,000. 

In America, say in Chicago, the newspapers would have fought 
for the privilege of publishing all the details connected with so 
munificent a donation. In the case of the English newspapers, 
they have given results onlj^ as an advertisement. Day by day, at 
a round sum per line, the managers of the fund have been able 
to inform the people as to the accretion of their benevolence. In 
fine, buried among wants, to rent, to lease, among quinine pills, 
auction sales, demands for nurses, housemaids, cooks, and coach- 
men, is the only published record to be had of the grandest act 
in modern English history. 

The same journals which thus banish to their advertising col- 
umns the culmination of a sublime charity will give column 
after column to the tramp, and the number of birds bagged by my 
Lord Tomnoddy in the course of a week's shooting on some 
Scottish moors. A column or so daily is not begrudged to spec- 
ulations as to what horse will be first, and what one second, and 
so on, in a coming horse-race ; but not a line will be devoted to 
showing in this handicap of good deeds what is leading, or what 
are the results of the contest. 



CUEIOSITIES m LONDON JOURNALISM. 133 

A most contemptible and unworthy setting for a jewel of such 
a magnitude and such brilliancy. 

No London journal condescends to announce a coming event 
except it be a horse-race, or the marriage of Lady Rougefleur to 
the Rt. Hon. De Noirlis of that ilk. To a stranger looking out 
for forthcoming matters of importance, this feature of London 
journalism is most embarrassing and provoking. He learns of 
a general review of the troops, of an execution, a public demon- 
stration, or anything else of that kind, after its occurrence, and 
never before — always excepting, of course, an aristocratic mar- 
riage and a horse-race. Outside these two particulars, the future 
is as much ignored in London journalism as if it had no exist- 
ence. 

To some extent this is a matter of business. It is done, in 
fact, to oblige everybody to advertise. This was seen in the pro- 
gramme of the celebration of the Lord Mayor's day. There was 
not a word in advance outside the advertising columns of the 
press. Here only could one find that there was to be a celebra- 
tion, and its character. It was a something in which everybody 
had an interest, and of which all wished to know the details. In 
America this universal interest would have brought the occur- 
rence under the head of news, and it would have been treated 
accordingly. 

When everything relating to the future is made a matter of 
advertising by a newspaper, it is a fair conclusion that such a 
one has more business than journalistic enterprise — that it is 
more the production of the business manager than of the editor. 

In truth there is no enterprise, in the American sense of the 
term, in the London press. Many of them rely upon one re- 
porter for occurrences in and out the city; and, hence, it is not 
unfrequently the case that one sees precisely the same matter in 
a half dozen newspapers. It is as if all the Chicago papers 
should unite upon one man to do their Joliet work, and he should 
do it by sending duplicate accounts each day to all of his em- 
ployers. 

This process cheapens the cost of issuing a paper in London. 
It is not journalism, but it is profitable. When nearly every- 
thing in the shape of news is published only as paid adver- 
tisements, it must be evident that the operation pays. It 
does. The net income of The Telegraph is about half a million 
dollars per annum. Such is the substantial result accruing from 



134 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

an ingenious system whereby the public is charged a round sum. 
to get news published, and then is charged another round sum 
for the privilege of reading it along with some classical com- 
ments of the editor on the barbarity of the Russians. 

I fancy that, when the English journal is perfected, it will 
charge fifty cents a line for the admission of telegraphic news; 
a dollar a line for the admission of editorials, and so much per 
square for news clippings. When all this shall be done, the av- 
erage English newspaper will be quite as entertaining and a trifle 
more profitable than it is at present. 

An American in London on the watch for news from home, 
gets, now and then, in the local press, some novel and startling 
information. Not long since, The Times referred, in its com- 
ments on some American news, to the " Governor of Pittsburgh." 
A day or two ago the same sheet gave us hungry Americans in- 
formation as to the doings of a " congressional senatorial caucus 
held in Maine." The Times commits more blunders than the 
other papers in its treatment of American affairs, simply because 
it affords more information in that direction. If the other papers- 
blunder less, it is because they say less. 

I do not know that there is more ignorance shown of Ameri- 
can events and geography than of the same with reference to 
other countries. This ignorance was most marvelously displayed 
during Gladstone's trip to Ireland. The papers have lately been 
full of letters from indignant Hibernians, who protest against 
locating counties in towns, against the misnaming and mis-spell- 
ing of prominent localities, and the putting of this or that town 
in the northeast of Ireland, when it should be in the southwest. 

A knowledge of geography does not seem to be the forte, nor 
even an accomplishment, of the English journalist. He knows- 
every territorial inch of the earth as it was surveyed and named 
during the reign of the Caesars; but he cannot for the life of him 
tell whether Chicago is in Illinois, or Illinois in Chicago, or 
whether both are on Lake Pontchartrain or Lake Erie. I may 
add that not only does he not know, but he does not care to know. 
An accurate knowledge of such things would permit the infer- 
ence that he had some interest in them — and that would never 
do, you know. There is a fine kind of an intimation of super- 
iority in their ignorance of American politics and geograpliy. 
It is an intimation, you know, that the thing is not worth looking 
into, you know. 



CURIOSITIES IN LONDON JOURNALISM. 135 

There is a thing which occurs so regularly in the London press 
that it must be designed ; and which, to a democratic looker-on 
like myself, is very ludicrous. It is something which always 
makes its appearance in book reviews, or in that class of 
reviews in which social life and other society matters form a part. 

Of course, no British novelist ever brings out a work of fiction 
without having in it a plentiful sprinkling of earls, countesses, 
and similar elevated characters. These august people are trotted 
out, and made to show their paces over all sorts of roads, and 
under all kinds of circumstances. How my lady eats, dresses, 
sleeps; how she talks to her maid, her coachman, her sisters, 
brothers, husband, lover, father; how she acts and converses at 
receptions, picnics, balls, the opera„ and the like, are all worked 
out in elaborate detail by the novelist. He has my lord in the 
smoking-room, at the table, grouse-shooting, at the club, every, 
where, and he exhibits that elevated personage in every possible 
aspect from full dress to his night-shirt. 

I won't say that these things are done in order that the public 
will say of the author: " "Why, what a tremendous swell he must 
be! He never could give all these details unless he were the in- 
timate friend and associate of all these great people." I won't 
even insinuate any such thing, because it might not be true, and 
might therefore do an injustice to these worthy writers of fiction. 

But now comes in the ludicrous element to which I have re- 
ferred, and whose development is found in the book notices. All 
the critics at once seize upon these social and other details in re- 
gard to the characters of the Earl of Choufleur and the Countess 
of Addlepate. They find fault in every direction. These descrip- 
tions are not according to real life. They are unnatural. It is 
not thus that these august personages talk and act under the given 
circumstances. 

Here there is a most obvious attempt on the part of the critics 
to identify themselves with the aristocratic element. Every line 
of their comment is a direct assertion to this effect : " These au- 
thors do not know what they are talking about ! We, who do asso- 
ciate intimately with these swells, will point out their mistakes 
and blunders ! " 

Again, the public in reading these criticisms must be forced to 
conclude : " These critics cannot be less than earls themselves, 
or their trusted and intimate friends, or else they could not speak 
so authoritatively about their doings and sayings ! " 



136 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

There is not a periodical in London, liowever cheap or obscure, 
whose critic does not thus freely condemn the social creations of 
the bookmakers, when the locale is in any of the stone mansions 
overlooking Hyde Park. It is a harmless sort of an affectation, 
and, while it deceives nobody, it possibly adds somewhat to the 
good feeling of the chap who does it — albeit he often is writing 
at a salary of £2 a week ; and if he ever gets into a dress coat it 
is one rented for the occasion from some one of the many old 
clo' artists who are about everywhere in this great metropolis. 

In fact, there seems to be a race among a large proportion of 
the London journals as to which shall gain a prize for going 
fastest and farthest in detraction of the lower, and worship of 
the higher classes. The last number of The Tatler wishes to know 
what can be "expected of a jury composed of small shop-keep- 
ers? " It refers to the crowds that lined the route of the Lord 
Mayor's procession as " gaping British mechanics." Of course 
the object of the chap who engineers The Tatler is to impress on 
his limited circle of readers the belief that he is a very elevated 
being — possibly a juke in disguise — and one who is very far 
above " small shop-keepers " and " gaping British mechanics." 



LETTER XXII. 

PHILOLOGICAL ECCENTRICITIES. 

London, December 4, 1877. 

f^HE individual who, daily, goes over my face with a razor, 
\ performing an operation which is here mistermed " shav- 
ing," is a native of London, and a resident of some flfty 
years' standing. Lathering faces, scraping them and handling a 
small stock of tobacco and so-called "cigars," which he keeps in 
the front of his tonsorial parlors, have so occupied his time that 
he has never found leisure for travel. His whole life has been 
spent within a rough circle whose centre is Paddington Green, 
and whose periphery does not extend beyond Petticoat Lane on 
the east, the Elephant-and-Castle on the south, 'Ammersmith on 
the west, and Primrose Hill in the direction of the arctic circle. 



PHILOLOGICAL ECCENTRICITIES. 137 

Of course, having been thus circumscribed in his travels, his 
knowledge of outlying countries and nations is limited. 

In proportion as he has been debarred from actual contact with 
men and things does he possess a thirst for information concern- 
ing the unknown world lying just beyond the circle of which 
his mangling establishment is the centre. When, after a time, 
he learned that I am a native of that far-away country known 
here somewhat vaguely as "America," his desire for information 
developed into an intense yearning. Day by day as, by turns, he 
denuded my face of hair and skin, he sought for knowledge con- 
cerning those barbarian races of whom I am a member, and of 
whom, during his life, there had come to him strange and often 
startling rumors. Glad to be in a position to spread abroad facts 
concerning our glorious people, I answered all his questions, 
and occasionally gave him scraps of information which, if not 
wholly reliable, are at least novel and startling in the extreme. 
Yesterday he said to me : 

" Tell me, mister, was you born in America ? " 

" Oh, yes ! At least, I am almost certain I was. Tou see, it is 
so long since I was born, and I was so very young at the time, I 
can't exactly be certain about some points. But, I think, I was 
born in America." 

He was a little puzzled. There was something in the answer 
which he didn't quite understand. 

He pondered over it a moment, gave it up, and proceeded : 

"But, of course, you 'aven't lived there all your life?" 

" No. What makes you ask that ? " 

"Why, you must 'ave lived in England a good bit of your life, 
because you speak English just as good as anybody." 

" Oh, I see. Well, I'll tell you. I was in England a week, 
three years ago. That was all. But I learn a language very 
easily. When I came here then I spoke only American. Before 
the end of that week I could say a good many English words, 
and could understand a great many things that were said to me 
When I returned home I got a teacher, and studied until I could 
speak English as well as I can now." 

He conceded it to be the most remarkable thing he ever heard. 

This barber, Webb by name, tobacconist and tonsorial artist 
by occupation, and domiciled on Harrow road, Paddington Green, 
belongs to the upper stratum of the lower classes. I find in this 
shop The Telegraph, the London Chraphic, Punch, and various 



138 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Other periodicals. He is fairly posted on local matters, including 
the parties, the war, church laws, and current events. And yet 
he believes Americans from the United States speak a language 
which is as unlike English as French, Spanish, or Russian. He 
is a fair representative of the upper end of the lower classes, or 
the lower end of the middle classes. 

In a compartment of the underground were three of us— a 
friend and myself, and an elderly gentleman. 

The latter said: 

" Pardon me. Are you not an American ? " 

" I have the honor to be." 

" Strange, isn't it ? I heard you say four words and I knew you 
were an American. 

' " That's nothing. I knew you were not an Englishman before 
you spoke. I know it now to a certainty." 

" How do you know it ? " 

" I knew it by looking at you, because you wear a mustache 
and no other beard, a something which an Englishman never 
does. I knew it when you spoke. You said ' Pardon me,' which 
is French. An Englishman would say, ' I beg pardon,' so as to 
get himself at the head of the procession. And finally I knew 
you were not English, because an Englishman would never ask 
such a question, or any other one, if he could help it." 

" I was born in England, but you are right substantially. I 
have lived and been in business nearly all my life in France. 
But can you tell me why there is such a divergence in the English 
of England and the English of America?" 

" I can't, I'm sure. I can assure you, however, that the fault is 
not with us. We speak English; the masses of the people of 
this country do not. I have no less an authority than' Earl Man- 
ville for the statement that educated Americans speak the English 
language far better than educated Englishmen. I have no doubt 
whatever that, were a wall built between England and America 
so that there could be no intercourse, in two or three hundred 
years, a native of one country could not iinderstand a word spoken 
by a native of the other; and this would be because this country 
is rapidly losing its knowledge of English. Even now, there are 
hundreds of words in common use which I do not understand. 
There is no part of the world where English is so poorly spoken 
as in England. Already the cries of peddlers, of cabmen, 'bus 
drivers, and scores of others who are omnipresent, and who are 



PHILOLOGICAL ECCENTRICITIES. 13& 

spreading their language all through the masses, are or were as 
unintelligible to me as if they were in Sanscrit." 

A nation without a dictionary is like an army without a leader. 
England has no dictionary, or what amounts to the same thing, 
it has a dozen, which is as bad as an army commanded by a 
dozen different men, no two of whom agree as to the conduct of 
the campaign. You meet an intelligent man and ask him: 

" What is your standard dictionary ? " 

" Walker's, of course." 

" And yours ? " to another. 

"Johnson's, by all means." 

"And yours?" to a third. 

"The Imperial." 

" And yours ? " 

" Haven't any. We don't need any. All the standard of pro- 
nunciation we need is the example of our educated speakers." 

" Yes, but Gladstone says insoo when other intelligent men say 
isshu. Some say Keltic, when others say Seltic, and still others 
say TcJieltie. Now, what will you do in a case of this kind ? " 

The answer will very likely be something of the "damfino" 
order, and there the discussion will rest. A very natural 
result is that there are about as many standards of pronunciation 
as there are people who have anything to say. There is no agree- 
ment even in the pronunciation of the dead languages, and a 
wide difference of opinion as to accent. 

In order to illustrate and demonstrate the gradual divergence 
of English usage from the strait and narrow path trodden by 
Americans, I will append a few cases which I have in my mem- 
ory of the use of English words by Englishmen. Some of the 
words given are in use by all classes, and others by the masses. 
The first column presents certain words as spelled and generally 
as they should be pronounced, while the other column gives the 
method in which they are pronounced : 

Colquhoun — Calhoun. Cockburn — Coburn. Beauchamp — 
Beechem. Derby— Darby. Berkley— Barkley. Clerk — Clark. 
Hertford — Hefford. Cholniondeley — Chumley. Bouverie — 
Booberie. Greenwich — Grinnidge. Woolwich — Woolidge. Har- 
wich— Harridge. Ludgate — Luggat. Telegraph — Telegra,wph. 
Nasty — Nawsty. Cab, sir? — Kib, sir? Black your shoes? — 
Shoebleck? Bank— Bink. High Holborn— Eye Oburn. White- 
chapel— Witchipel. Trait— Tray. Out— Hout. Ounce— Hounce. 



Il 



14:0 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Ass — Hass. Horse — Awse. Royal Oak — Relluke. Extra — 
Hextra. Mile End — Meelen. Standard — Staindard. Cliance' 
Chawnce. Bone Hill— Bunnel. Bath — Bawth. Hammersmith 
— Ammersmith. Issue — Issoo. Gloucester — Gloster. Leicester — 
Lester. Celtic — Keltic. Ecce-Homo — Ekke-Homo. Classes — 
Glosses. Pall Mall— Pell Mell. ' 

I might continue this list through a half a dozen ordinary- 
letters, but enough has been given to show how widely in pro- 
nunciation our English friends have wandered from the recog- 
nized path. 

Nor is this difference between the spelling of words and their 
sound all there is to prove that the English are losing the English 
language, and substituting a jargon that is totally unlike that 
speech bequeathed to us by our Saxon and iSTorman ancestors. 

What, for instance, is to be done by a man understanding and 
recognizing the English of Macaulay, Longfellow, Byron, Lamb, 
Whittier, Grant White, and the expurgated vernacular of the 
venerable Bryant, who finds that a street-sprinkler in England's 
English is a " hydrostatic van ; " that rails on a railroad are 
"metals;" a railway track is a "line;" a store a "shop;" a 
hardware man an " iron-monger?" He finds no policemen here, 
but " constables." If he go into a store and ask for boots, he 
will be shojvn a pair of shoes that lace or button about the ankle. 
" I don't undersand you," is rendered by " I beg pardon, or pard- 
ing," according to circumstances. 

There are no groceries, or dry-goods stores. Baggage is " lug- 
gage;" a traveling-bag is a "grip-sack;" there are no trunks, 
but always " boxes." A freight-car is a " goods van ; " a conductor 
on a 'bus or railway is a " guard ; " a street railway is a "tram- 
way;" a baggage-car a "luggage-van;" a pitcher is a "jug;" 
and two and a half pence is tuppence 'apenny. A sovereign is a 
" squid ; " a shilling a " bob ; " a sixpence is a " tanner." 

A traveler does not get his ticket from a ticket-office, but a 
"booking-office." He does not seat himself in a car, but in a 
"compartment." His train is never switched, it is "shunted." 

The bewildered American steps out on the street and he hears 
a prolonged, dismal howl, which, as he can make it out, sounds 
like " Ne-he-mi-oh ! " and which he in time learns is the remark 
of a newsboy to the effect: "■Fall Mall Gazette! " Another howl : 
"Boo-goo-waa-hoo!" he learns to be, "Cabbages, a penny a 
head." At a station, the dolorous call " Awl, Awl ! " of the guard, 



PHILOLOGICAL ECCENTRICITIES. 141 

he discovers, after he has missed his destination a few times, and 
has picked up a knowledge of the language, to be the English 
for " Vauxhall." A decrepid old woman proffers him a box of 
matches, with a curtsy, and with lightning rapidity rattles off 
what sounds like, " Gurnmity, gurnmity, gurnmity, gum," and 
which, as he gets along in English, he finds to mean, " I'm-a- 
widdy-with ten-children-God- bless-you-sir-and-won't-you-buy-a- 
box-of-matches-God-bless-you-sir-an-thank-you-sir-much-obleeged- 
sir!" 

Mary, the good-looking domestic, walks into my room, and, as 
she anchors herself with one hand to the door-knob, says : 

"The pipers beant come, sir." 

" Oh, haven't they ? What's the matter, I wonder ? " 

" I deoan't kneaouw, I'm sure. I'm going hout, and I'll see."' 

" Thanks." 

" An' wattle you 'ave for breakfass ? " 

" I don't know. What can you get me that's good ? " 

*' Ow'd you like a chump ? " 

" Oh, very well, I reckon. Can't you get me a porter-house 
steak ? " 

"A wot, sir?" 

" A porter-house steak." 

"An' wot's that; hif you please?" 

I explain. 

" Never heerd hof hit, I'm sure." 

" Well, then, can you get me a tenderloin steak ? " 

"A wot?" 

I explain. 

"There isn't no such. But maybe as ow you'd like a fillet?" 

"A fillet? What's that?" 

Mary explains. 

" An' would you like some poteyties ? " 

" Yes, some potatoes, please." 

" Anythink else ? " 

"Nothing now but the papers." 

" Oh yees. Eaouw baed ! (How bad !) I forgot the pipers.'» 

And Mary trips oflF after the pipers, some 'am, poteyties, and a 
couple of heggs. Mary is a good girl. "She lays the fire"— 
i. e., gets it ready for lighting when I am away. She never 
brings any coal, but to compensate for this, she always "fetches 
some coals." She replenishes the "water-jug"— i. e., the wash-^ 



142 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

pitcher. She will never go to au apothecary shop or druggist's 
for me, because she doesn't know what an apothecary shop or 
druggist's is, but she will go around to the "kimmis' " on demand. 
If I ask her to go to the saloon and get a pitcher of ale, she will 
require an explanatory addendum to the effect that I wish her to 
^o to the public 'ouse and fetch me a jug of bitter. She won't 
go to a dry-goods store, but she will to a haberdasher's. 

I have a friend, and as there is no drinking-water, we must 
quench our thirst with some other fluid. We enter a public 
'ouse, and my friend asks for a thripenny go of cold Irish — 
meaning that he wishes some plain Irish whisky. I ask for stout 
and bitter, meaning thereby that I wish a glass of a mixture 
composed one-half of beer and the other half of porter. In 
doubt as to our location, I inquire the direction of the Tems — 
meaning the Thames. We go along Hoxford (Oxford) street, 
pass Ide Park (Hyde Park), keep on through 'Oburn (Holburn), 
passing Tottenim (Tottenham) Court Road, Chawncery Lane, and 
after a devious trip we reach Lunnon Bridge. We can now go by 
way of the Helephant and Castle to Clapon (Clapham) Common, 
returning by way of Chelsee (Chelsea) and Sin Jem's Park (St. 
James' Park) to the Habbey (Westminster Abbey), and so on 'ome. 

I might run this article through a dozen pages, and then would 
have no more than made a beginning. Enough has been given 
to show that the English people are fast losing their English and 
are constructing a new language which, in a century, will be as 
unlike the original and pure English of America as is Choctaw. 
As I bring this article to a close, a man with magnificent lungs 
is passing my window; I hear him call, " Bonna! Bonna! Pack- 
a-pee ! Pack-a-pee ! " I rush to the window. It is a vender of 
bonnet-boxes, who is offering them at eight pence apiece. 



LETTER XXIII. 

BKITISH THOROUGHBREDS. 

London, Dec. 11, 1877. 

OMEBODY very kindly sent me a couple of tickets for the 
five-shilling day. Other and more common people come 
in the next day, and it only .costs them a shilling. Just 



BKITISFI THOKOUGHBREDS. 143 

why it should cost five shillings on Monday, and a shilling on 
Tuesday, may seem strange at first view, but it is all right when 
one understands it. The first day there is a double exhibition, 
which includes thoroughbreds of both two-legged and four-legged 
species. On this day there are viscounts and Devons, short-liorns 
and dukes, Herefords and lords. Sutfolks and earls, Southdowns 
and baronets, heifers, knights, ewes, countesses, oxen, peeresses, 
steers and marquises ; in fine, the blue blood of Great Britain, 
irrespective of age and sex, and inclusive of nobility of all 
grades, from the Prince of TVales and a blooded Suffolk down to 
a bishop's son and a tluck-wooled wether — all unrivaled in 
breed, descent, or value. 

I find by looking back that I have omitted to mention where I 
went, and what, in the concrete, it is that I went to see. Of course 
I refer to the cattle-show, as it is termed here, or agricultural 
show, or fair, as we would term it in America. I omitted to say 
where I was going, because it didn't occur to me. Any time 
within these two weeks, had any one said to any native: 

" Are you going ? " the answer would have been at once : 

" Certainly I am; aren't you? " 

It would not have been necessary to say, "Are you going to 
the cattle-show?" because that was understood. The papers 
have been full of it, the dead walls have been full of it, and so 
have all London and all England. 

I may say that the present is the eightieth annual exhibition; 
that it is held in Agricultural Hall, London, and that Agricul- 
tural Hall is about as large as the Exposition building in Chi- 
cago. The show is a sort of a national fete, having reference to 
Christmas. 

At some hotels, especially in France, it is customary to place a 
course on the table before it is carved. A brown and weighty 
turbot, or a round of beef, or a platter of roast ducks, is placed 
before the guests, who admire its dimensions and color, inhale 
its odor, speculate as to its juiciness, thus through their imagin- 
ation enjoying the dish in advance. By and by it is served, and 
then the palate is brought into play; and thus, in turn, sight, 
smell and taste are permitted to be gratified. It is a method of 
increasing the pleasure of dining, and is often resorted to where it 
is desirable to make the largest outlay upon the smallest capital. 

The same principle — only more so — is at the base of this an- 
nual exhibition. 



144 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Among our British cousins, the Christinas season is one devoted 
to the belly. They are square eaters, as a general thing, as I know ; 
but I am assured that all the heavy eating that I have yet seen 
is to the Christmas gorge what a gimlet is to an augur, a rat-hole 
to the Mont Cenis tunnel. 

The gathering here in London, the second week in December, 
of obese cattle, swollen pigs, and pinguidinous lambs, is solely 
that the British eyesight may revel in advance upon that which 
is soon to be eaten ; that the British touch may wander over the 
vast haunches and padded ribs of the intended victims for the 
Christmas sacrifice. Such, in brief, is the meaning of the 
December cattle-show. It is caviare, luncheon, cocktails, and 
other appetizers for the senses, except that of taste. There are 
a few agricultural and other implements connected with the 
show; but they are an innovation; they form no essential part 
of it, and are put in the galleries of the hall simply because the 
spaces up there would look badly without something, and to get 
cattle up would be an impossibility. 

The first day is remarkable as being devoted almost exclu- 
sively to thoroughbreds, both men and animals. The price of ad- 
mission is put at a figure which keeps the mob away. The 
purpose of this is that the nobility may, so to speak, dine at the 
first table. They have the first chance. Their aristocratic eyes 
get the first view, their noble fingers first sample the thickness 
of fat and muscle, their elevated imaginations have the first op- 
portunity to cut oft" juicy and dripping slices from the rotund 
masses on exhibition. After their betters have been served, the 
common people throng in and dine their plebeian senses from 
off the remnants. They inhale the rich porcine odor ; they punch 
their dirty and stumpy fingers among ribs which but j'esterday 
were deftly explored and gently titillated by the slender and lav- 
ender-clad digits belonging to shapely and aristocratic hands. 
Metaphorically speaking, on Monday the select, blue-blooded 
few go in, consume the tenderloins and the delicate tid-bits ; later 
comes the mass and devours the tripe, the neck-piece, the fatty 
brains, the degenerated liver, and unsavory offal. 

To get into anything public in London requires infinite pa- 
tience, management, tact; in short, an executive ability of the 
very highest order. In the present instance, considering the mo- 
mentous character of the exhibition, the difliculties were 
redoubled. Dense crowds lined the sidewalks for blocks itt 



BRinSH THOROUGHBREDS. 145 

every direction. All the adjoining public houses had the Brit- 
ish flag flying, and thirsty customers fought their way to and 
from the reeking counters. A string of carriages filed up, as at 
a grand gala night at the opera, and discharged their contents 
with infinite slowness and difliculty. Dogs fought; men chaffed, 
squeezed, swore ; small boys and infants were scattered through 
the interstices of the crowd, and were stepped on and run over 
with undeviating partiality. 

I followed the crowd that was pouring in the entrance nearest 
where I alighted. It took me five minutes to get to the barrier; 
and then, just about as I thought myself in, a policeman took ray 
ticket, and handed it back with the remark: 

" Next hentrance." 

It took me three minutes to get out, and then I started in 
search of the next hentrance. The next hentrance was found, 
and there I was told to go somewhere else. Entrance after en- 
trance presented itself, but all were wrong ones. Finally, after 
going around a series of irregular blocks, I came upon a file of 
carriages, upon every seat of which were men in livery. Some- 
how I felt that land was in sight. I was about to enter that par- 
ticular hole in the building reserved for the titled. There was a 
small, pellucid, and very select stream of us I was borne in on 
the waves of aristocracy. There were lords to the right of me, 
dukes to the left of me. 

There was no crowding or struggling among us. We were de- 
liberate and dignified, as befitted our exalted station. I informed 
none of my noble companions that they were " rum coves," as 
was done among the base elements who fringed our pathway. If 
any peer in that procession fancied that I was not a nobleman 
from any remark I made, he was mistaken, for I never opened 
my lips, but bore myself after that English method, in which 
there is exhibited a bearing as if there were no other fellow in 
sight. 

I assure my American compatriots that there is no difficulty in 
passing in such a crowd for what you please. It is perfectly easy 
to pass yourself for a prince ; it is easy because nobody pays the 
slightest attention to you, or is aware of your presence. 

I was half an hour getting in. There was not the smallest 

reason why I should not have entered at the first door I tried. 

But letting people into a building by the most convenient door 

would not be a case of How-not-to-do-it. Doing a thing by the 

10 



146 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

shortest method would violate precedent, would throw ianumer- 
able officials out of office, would not give flunkeys an opportu- 
nity to be insolent, and would greatly accommodate the public. 
All these reasons probably account for the fact that nearly every 
man who enters Agricultural Hall must enter a particular hole 
cut to fit his size, and can enter by no other. 

It has taken me some time to get the reader into the cattle- 
show; but, as an excuse, let it be understood that this is not 
America, and that nothing here is done in a hurry. 

If the Chicago reader will fancy the floor of the Exposition 
building given up to cattle, sheep and hogs, and the galleries to 
implements, and racks of beets and turnips, he will have a very 
good idea of Agricultural Hall — a building which, during any 
popular day of one of the animal exhibitions, will be visited 
by as many as sixty thousand people. It is not so handsome as 
our building; the lighting is inferior; but as it encloses about 
four acres, its capacity is rather greater. 

On Monday afternoon, the main floor was just comfortably 
filled with its blooded occupants — that is to say, blooded men, 
women, cattle, sheep and hogs. There was room enough to walk 
on all sides of every specimen, whether a duchess or a Devon, a 
baron or a Berkshire ; and I made the most of my opportunity 
to study the eflects of breeding on the British animals, in the 
pens or around their edges. 

What would not Mrs. Livermore have given to have thus stood 
face to face with the human, bovine, and ovine products of a 
thorough and scientific stirpiculture ! There were faces before 
me in which were concentrated all the virtues of in-breeding and 
crossing from the Norman conquest to the present generation. 
There were Devons and Herefords whose ancestry dates back in 
an unbroken line to some bovine progenitor, who, jumping the 
wretched fences of a thin Normandy pasture, bolted into the juicy 
meadows of some neighboring territory, where, by sharpness of 
horn, fierceness of bellow, and strength of neck, he established 
his supremacy and founded a posterity — a posterity approving 
only of his antiquity, and never questioning the means by which 
he secured his original foothold. 

It was immense ! Nothing could be grander than this opportu- 
nity to study thoroughbreds face to face. I could compare, con- 
trast them. I could see at a glance wherein breeding had given 
a grain of superiority to the human product, and again had con- 



BKITISH THOROUGHBREDS. 147 

ferred it upon the animal. In some instances, one was in ad- 
vance, and in some instances, the other was unmistakably ahead. 

Sometimes 1 seemea to see wherein pedigree had clone more 
for a Hereford than a human ; tor a fciouthclown than a squire ; 
for a Berkshire than a baronet. Wliile adipose prevailed among 
both, there was a more dignified repose among the thoroughbreds 
witliin the pens than among those without. None of the former 
appeared possessed of a vulgar curiosity as to the anatomy of 
the latter. No Devon degraded himself by fumbling the fat on 
the ribs of a duke; or occupied himself in squinting along the 
backbone of his grace as if it were a gun which he was sight- 
ing at the battery of an enemy. No Norfolk heifer looked dis- 
dainfully at a Sussex cow in an adjoining pen, with a glance 
which seemed to say, "Your ancestor came over ages and ages 
after mine, you wretched plebeian! " 

In all these respects the balance of valuable results seemed to 
incline within the pens rather than outside them. Upon the 
whole, I am rather inclined to fancy that breeding tells more ef- 
fectively in steers than in peers — so to speak — in the steerage 
than the peerage. While there were abundant cases of fat in 
both, I was often compelled to notice that what was good, honest 
layers of suet in the former, was quite often, in the latter, only a 
case of dropsical expansion with a malt or vinous basis. Barring 
the difference between the fragrance of attar of roses and the 
well-known porcine emanation, there was a perceptible improve- 
ment among the high-bred swine over their human competitors. 
The former had none of that lack of geniality, none of that 
hauteur characteristic of the latter. Any respectably-dressed, 
fair-appearing stranger like myself could approach one of these 
gentlemanly hogs without a letter of introduction, and could 
scratch his back and take other similar innocent familiarities 
without giving offense. . I could do no such things to any of the 
titled ladies and gentlemen by whom I was surrounded. I had 
no genealogy with me ; and without one, and a long one, the 
well-meaning stranger is debarred, in this country, from doing 
many things which would conduce to his pleasure. 

In these respects, justice would seem to compel me, in an un- 
biased summary of the respective values of the two classes, as 
affected by culture and pedigree, to give the first prize to the 
four-footed competitors. 



148 




BKinSH THOKOUGHBREDS. 149 

I overhearu a most affecting incident during the course of my 
wanderings. 

It was related by a tall man, with gold eye-glasses and gray 
whiskers, to a small knot of listeners, composed of a stout lady 
in a velvet overcoat, a younger lady, with pale, clean-cut, regular 
features, and a young man with a single glass stuck in a weak 
blue eye, and whose reddish mustache was elaborately curled 
upward at the ends. 

"She was," he said, "descended in a direct line from the Duke 
of Plymouth. Her great-grandmother was the Baroness of Avon. 
Her grandfather was the Duke of Fyldon, and her father, Prince 
Jerome. Her mother was Lady Flora, of Laddiport." 

"Aw — naouw, was — aw — she naouw — aw?" asked the 
young man with the single eye-glass. 

The ladies looked interested and sympathetic. 

" I got her at a cost of seven thousand pounds." 

"Aw, naouw, aw — did you, aw — naouw?" asked the young 
man with the single eye-glass. 

" Yes, 1 did. I kept her three years, and she didn't breed, and 
I had to sell her for beef." 

" Aw, naouw, aw — did you, aw — naouw? " remarked the young 
man with the single eye-glass. 

The two ladies seemed on the point of weeping. Fearing I 
might intrude on their sacred grief, I walked away. Ah, me! 
how sad is the inner history of aristocratic lives! Who is the 
poet who will embody in some sad dithyrambic monody the life, 
the failure, the untimely death of this young descendant of so 
princely a line ? Let us who are poor and humble cease to re- 
pine over our misfortunes. No such calamity as this ever falls to 
the lot of the obscure, the untitled. It is the castle on the tow- 
ering crag that is struck by the howling tempest — the same 
which passes harmlessly over the lowly cot which nestles hum- 
bly in the valley. 

It would be charming to wander longer, much longer, in this 
sacred precinct of blooded men and titled cattle, but space for- 
bids. Perhaps at some other time I may invite the readers of 
The Times to join me again, and once more circulate in such 
goodly company. Thoroughbred society is not easily attainable 
on this island ; and this fact must excuse my having lingered so 
long in this delightful company. 



150 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER XXIV. 

BRITISH CATTLE SHOTV^. 

London, Dec. 15, 1877. 

fN my last I gave you a brief account of a visit to the great 
annual cattle-show of England. My first visit was oii Mon- 
day, the opening day, and from whicli the common people 
were excluded, so as to give the gentry a chance to punch the 
ribs of the cattle and scratch the backs of the Berkshires with- 
out being exposed to the dangers of being rubbed against by 
cockneys from the city, and English hoodlums from Edgware 
Road. 

The English grade things nicely with reference to rank. As, 
for instance, in this cattle-show, his royal highness, the Prince 
of Wales, and his immediate staff of noble adherents, were ad- 
mitted to the hall at noon on Monday. Two hours later, people 
below princes and above cockneys were given admission. After 
these had had a view, the Iwi jpolloi, at the rate of a shilling per 
caput, were allowed to follow in the footsteps of their betters. It 
costs something to be a nobleman in this countrj^. We who went 
in the first day had to pay five shillings for the privilege of being 
somebody. The average difference, or ratio, of somebody to no- 
body in England is as five to one — which is a convenient method 
of expressing a social distinction by a mathematical formula. 

On Monday I had an opportunity to compare the effect of high 
breeding by examining it in the thoroughbred men and cattle, 
and women and sheep and pigs who were gathered face to face 
at Agricultural Hall. A later day I had an opportunity to com- 
pare the thoroughbred with the common-bred, the vulgar. One 
cannot thoroughly understand the high-bred specimen until one 
has compared it with others of its own kind, and also contrasted 
it with others of an opposite kind. I had seen how a Devon car- 
ried himself in the presence of a duke. Before forming a con- 
clusion as to his qualities, I had to see him in the presence of 
a costermonger. People are often on their good behavior, simply 
as a matter of policy when in good society, who, when with in- 
feriors are insolent, overbearing, intolerable. A Dorset pig who 
would be a perfect gentleman when in company with a peer, 
might, if high breeding is of no value in manners, turn out a 
perfect hog when brought into contact with a purveyor of cat's- 



BRITISH CATTLE SHOW. 151 

meat. Truthfulness compels the admission that the thorough- 
breds bore themselves in a manner so dignified, when exposed to 
the crucial test of contact with inferiors, as to entitle them to 
distinguished consideration; as to prove that blood does tell, and 
that its effects are manifest in all the greater, as well as less 
qualities that characterize action, demeanor, sentiments, and 
bearing. 

There is one point worthy of note in this connection; and that 
is that, in some respects, culture and high-breeding seem to have 
done rather more for the animals than the men; or, if it be 
objected that there is no real difference between animals and 
men, then, I may say, breeding seems to have done more for the 
quadrupeds than the bipeds. For instance, among the former it 
does not appear that blue blood has produced any aristocratic 
defect of vision as among the latter. I saw no Hereford with a 
glass stuck in one eye, and gazing about with a weak, imbecile 
stare. I noticed also another difference. Among the aristocratic 
bipeds of Monday there seemed a very prevalent effort on the 
part of each individual to conduct himself as if he were the 
only person present. Nothing of the sort was apparent among 
the aristocratic quadrupeds. A Cheviot ewe would notice 
kindly a Ryland wether, while a Dorset swell would recognize 
with fraternal grunts his Coleshill neighbor in the adjoining sty. 

In these, and other similar things, it seemed to me as if high 
culture, long pedigree, and all that, arc doing more for the ani- 
mals who occupy the pens than for those who live in the 
castles. 

So far as quality of thought and language is concerned, I have 
no means of judging, as I can understand but little what the 
people say, and none at all of what may be said or thought by 
the others. 

I overheard a conversation Monday, which may serve to show 
what is said by thoroughbred men and women. It was between 
a substantial gentleman with a very purple nose, an elderly lady, 
very puffy, and red in the face, and a couple of tall young ladies, 
whose principal labor seemed to be to look composed, uninter- 
ested, but interesting, and altogether oblivious of the fact that 
there was anybody but their party present at the exhibition. Said 
the gentleman : 

" She has a magnificent top and middle, a wonderful bosom, 
and a very expanded chest " 



152 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA, 

" Aye," interrupted the elderly woman, " but she lacks depth. 
She is too narrow in the thighs " 

" Yes, I dare say you're quite right," said the gentleman, " but 
then you see her thighs only appear small because of the great 
outpouring of her broad hips and loins." 

" What a sweet, docile face she meets you with," remarked 
languidly one of the young ladies. 

" Yes, but don't you think she has quite an odd expression?" 
said the other. "And yet sucli a lovely head, and waxy horns — " 

It was only when the word " horns " was uttered that I learned 
that the conversation did not refer to some lady, but to a shortr 
horn heifer belonging to a gentleman from Ipswich, and which 
has taken more prizes than any animal on the ground. I ought 
to have known sooner that the conversation did not refer to any 
woman, because it was altogether too complimentary, consider- 
ing that three women were in the group of four who were 
engaged iu the discussion. 

As before said, the effect of breeding developed in the contrast 
of the thoroughbred stock with the base-born mob is worthy of 
all admiration and commendation. Anything less than the 
most perfect high breeding would have lost its temper and been 
guilty of breaches of politeness under the indignities to which 
the animals were subjected. Fancy a^ gentleman or lady sur- 
rounded for hours by a dense mob, odorous with foul pipes, 
sweetened gin, and fermenting beer; compelled to listen to all 
sorts of ungrammatical language embodying no refined ideas; 
forced to breathe a vitiated atmosphere; and to be punched, 
thumped, and prodded incessantly, by thick and dirty fingers; 
and, in fancying this, one can get an idea as to what was under- 
gone by the delicate and high-bred aristocrats of the paddock. 
They bore it nobly. I will not say that now and then a look of 
wearied disgust did not creep over the countenance of some 
noble heifer, who could trace her ancestry in an unbroken line 
to Victoria VIII., as the stumpy thumbs of the mob prodded 
her rounded flanks; but then such manifestations of disappro- 
bation were never boisterous or vulgar, and were always charac- 
terized by that serenity and composure so much sought after by 
the upper classes of Great Britain. 

It was amusing to watch the movements of the crowds about 
the pens. There is nothing a cockney desires so much as to be 
thought a connoisseur in cattle and horseflesh. Every peddler 



BRITISH CATTLE SHOW. 153 

of periwinkles out for a holiday went gravely all over each ani- 
mal in succession. He dove his fingers into the fleeces of tlie 
sheep, and appeared to be gravely calculating the fineness and 
yield of the wool. He fingered the chines, pinched the backs, 
and punched the ribs of the cattle ; and felt all the pigs with a 
gravity and a deliberation intended to convey the idea tliat he 
was a competent judge of every point bearing on the value of 
. Tvool, beef and pork. 

Another common and amusing feature was the hungry looks 
upon men's faces as they hung about the pens. Paunchj^ chaps, 
with bursting cheeks and protruding eyes, stood and gazed on 
the rotund thoroughbreds with an expression which was that of 
ecstatic anticipation. Present in body, they were absent in soul, 
and sat about Christmas boards with napkins tucked under their 
•chins, the odor of roast beef filling their nostrils, their whetted 
knives cutting great slices from the juicy loin, and their palates 
thrilling with grease and gore. No ragged hoodlum, with his 
nose flattened against the window of a pastry-shop, was ever 
half so complete an embodiment of eager, absorbed anticipation, 
yearning, and hungry desire, as these Englishmen who looked 
over the pens and devoured in advance their contents. 

One thing is very noticeable in the characteristics of American 
and English articles on exhibition. It is the higher finish and 
liglitness of the former. A laborer who uses an American fork 
saves immensely in the labor of carrying the implement. In 
fact, heaviness is a prevailing English quality. A one-horse cart 
is, by itself, a load for a horse. A hay-rigging is composed of 
immense beams and timbers, and looks like the skeleton of a 
mighty ship. The English plows, although beautifully finished, 
are so large that they seem intended for anchors. An American 
plow would not need more than half the draught to accomplish 
the same amount and quality of work. Among the heaviest of 
all the English articles on exhibition are several traction en- 
gines. They are monstrous machines — long as a steamship and 
as high as a house. They are mainly used for plowing, I under- 
stand, and are said to do excellent work. One is placed at a 
corner of a field, and by a system of cables and pulleys the plows 
are drawn across from side to side. 

Statistics furnished me by an English gentleman show that in 
one hundred and fifty-nine days of the present year he plowed 
five hundred and twenty-six acres, cultivated two hundred and 



154 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA 

ten, rolled three hundred and seventy-one, and dragged three 
hundred and twenty-seven, making a total of fourteen hundred 
and thirty-four acres of work performed by one steam plow, in 
the time specified. 

In occasional portions of the gallery are displays of vegetables, 
among which turnips, beets, mangels, potatoes and cabbages 
predominate. Here, as in English machinery, bulk seems to 
eclipse all other qualities. There are beets almost as tall and 
thick as John Wentworth ; cabbages resembling the domes of 
cathedrals ; turnips that have the dimensions of a planet. 

Mangels, eighty to ninety tons to the acre, and other roots in. 
proportion, are to be seen in abundance. At short intervals are 
cards bearing the legend that these mangels, and those beets and 
turnips were grown by her majesty the queen, or his royal 
highness the Prince of Wales. I offered to buy a specimen, in 
order to have a personal memento of these august agriculturists 
— but was informed that none are for sale. I take it that they 
are destined for a better fate than to become the trophy of a 
Yankee journalist. Probably after being tipped with ivory and 
furnished with silver-mounted handles, they will be placed among 
the crown jewels at the tower, in order to convey to posterity 
practical evidence of the bucolic tastes and simple pursuits of 
the present representatives of the house of Hanover. 



LETTER XXV. 

BOOK-MAKERS. 

London, January 6, 1878. 

. URING my stay here in London I have from time to time 
JiV^jJ been thrown into the company of journalists and littera- 
^^^^ teurs without number. Many of these whom I have thus 
met are well known in America, others are partially known, and 
still others not at all. I have thought that sketches of some of 
these people would be of interest to the readers of The Times; 
and to gratify such an interest I will in this letter outline a few 
novelists. 



BOOK-MAKEKS. 155 

It should be said at the outset that nearly all novels in England 
first appear in a three-volume form, and with expensive paper 
and binding. In this shape they are not put in the book-stores, 
but in the circulating libraries. A library edition consists usually 
of five hundred copies. The success achieved by a book during 
the library stage shapes its future. If there be a brisk demand, 
then a cheaper and larger edition is issued for the book-stores ; 
and if this go, then a still cheaper " railway edition," for news- 
stands and railway depots. 

Before leaving this matter of book-makers, I hope to be able ta 
give some facts of interest as to book-making, such as cost of 
issue, circulation, profits, and the like, together with the remu- 
neration paid to authors. Everybody, almost, in London, writes 
a book of some kind — generally a novel or two ; and hence the 
opportunity for reading live authors is uncommonly good. Of 
every five English people who happen to be standing together, 
the chances are that there will be one author, and perhaps two, 
in the gathering. 

I will at once to business, and commence the sketches with 
Joseph Hatton. Mr. Hatton, although comparatively a young 
man, has already produced some seven or eight novels ; several 
plays, some of which are original products, and others, either 
adaptations from his own works, or those of other authors. 
Among the last named is "Liz; That Lass o' Lowrie," which 
was brought out some months since at the Opera Comique, and 
which is still having a most successful run. He has also drama- 
tized his latest and most popular novel, " The Queen of Bohe- 
mia ; " but the work has not yet been put on the stage, owing to 
the press of holiday amusements. At the present moment he i& 
engaged in the production of an original melodrama, and also a 
novel, entitled " Cruel London," and of which one volume is 
already completed. 

He is about thirty-seven years of age, with an expression and 
air of youthful ness that make him seem much younger. This is 
added to by a boyish geniality, frankness and fresh enthusiasm. 
He is just under medium height, athletic but not stout in figure, 
and with an erect, soldiery bearing. Unlike most Englishmen, 
he is dark, with full beard and mustache, which, like his abun- 
dant hair, are a raven black. His mouth is large and indicative 
of luxurious tastes, his nose sufficiently pronounced to establish 
the existence of strong qualities. His eyes are large, dark-brown. 



156 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

keen, smiling, full of sympathy and a dreamy sensitiveness. As 
a whole, his face is handsome, sunny, attractive. 

Originally, I believe, from Lancaster, Mr. Hatton began life as 
a journalist, and has never since entirely severed his connection 
with the press. I have read only his " Queen of Bohemia," 
a book which bears on every page the assurance that it is his 
favorite child, conceived in love, and born and nurtured with a 
partial and absorbing affection. It is a most charming work 
from title page to finis. Its characters have all the sharpness of 
outline, the rounded softness, the exquisite gradations of shading 
of a first-class photograph. They have an intense realism that 
makes them at once recognizable as from life, and yet all are 
here and there "touched up " with a brush dipped in idealism 
whereby the harsher details of nature are softened without 
obliteration. His pastoral scenes are bright with sun-kissed 
blossoms, drowsy with the hum of bees, musical with the sweeter 
voices of nature — in short, nature in her warmest and most charm- 
ing aspects, such as one learns them, not from books or canvas, 
but by actual, studious, loving contact. 

As a writer, Mr. Hatton is achieving a success. Nearly all his 
books have passed the crucial test of the library edition, and 
have reached second and third editions. He has visited America, 
for which country he entertains a substantial liking, and from 
which he selects most liberally in his search for characters and 
novel combinations of human experience. Some of his works 
have been republished in America and have been given' a cordial 
reception. He is married and has a family thoroughly artistic 
in its tendencies. Mrs. Hatton, a lady of a handsome and im- 
posing presence, has demonstrated the possession of most superior 
abilities in amateur theatricals. A son of seventeen is already a 
fair geologist and linguist; and a daughter, a couple of years 
younger, has taken to painting, and has already produced credit- 
able and promising results. 

A favorite here, Mr. Hatton is certain to become equally one in 
America as our people become familiar with his productions. 

Next to Miss Braddon, perhaps there is no English lady novel- 
ist better known in America than Annie Thomas. Many of her 
novels have been republished by American houses; and, in addi- 
tion to having thus reached the American public, she has in- 
creased the circulation of her writings by having contributed 
directly, and very largely, to Harper's and Frank Leslie's period- 



BOOK-MAKERS. 15T 

icals. Her American connections extended over several years, 
and at present are, let me hope, only interrupted, not terminated,, 
by the business depression in America, which has included book, 
publishers as well as everybody else in its malign influences. 

Annie Thomas is her maiden name, her present name being 
the somewhat extraordinary one — to American ears — Mrs. Pender 
Cudlip. She is married to a clergyman of the established church, 
and from whom, of course, she receives her present designation. 
She was born in affluence and reared in luxury imtil the age of 
eighteen, when, by the death of her father, a distinguished naval 
officer, she found herself and mother substantially penniless. By 
mere accident she was induced to write a short article, which 
was accepted by the publisher .of a society magazine, and for 
which she received the — to her — munificent sum of twelve 
guineas. She at once, very naturally, conceived a great fancy for 
literary effort, and began and finished a three-volume novel. She 
submitted it to Maxwell, better known as Miss Eraddon's hus- 
band, who gave her any number of compliments and five pounds 
for her manuscript. Disappointed but not discouraged, she 
finished another, for which the liberal Maxwell offered her ten 
pounds. Getting the manuscript from him with some difficulty, 
she resolved to try some other publisher. The very first one to 
whom she offered it, looked through it, and at once gave her 
three hundred pounds for it. From that time to the present she 
has been a hard worker, writing incessantly and achieving a 
very substantial pecuniary success. It is about eighteen years 
since she became a novelist, and within that time she has written 
and had published some forty novels, many of which have ob- 
tained several editions. This amount of work is the more extra- 
ordinary when one reflects upon the fact that she has the care of 
a family, and had the rearing of four children, of whom two 
charming boys died within a couple of days. Two beautiful 
little girls remain who, while necessary to the completion of the 
domestic and maternal life, add necessarily to the difficulties and 
burdens of her professional labor. All these surroundings have 
the eff'ect to make her literary products seem out of all propor- 
tion to the time and facilities given to their accomplishment. 
There are a heroism, a devotion, an untiring industry and a 
suffering included in such a life which make it one of excep- 
tional beauty and grandeur. 

Despite all her hard work and her domestic bereavements^ 



158 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Mrs. Cudlip is still young in appearance, and although ner eyes 
have an appearance of much acquaintance with tears, and her 
voice has here and there a plaintive suggestion, she has all the 
elasticity and vivacity of a robust, healthful nature, to which 
drudgery and sutfering are unknown. She is of medium height, 
has dark, regular features, keen, dark, flashing eyes, and a cheery 
and decisive utterance. Her head is small, her forehead womanly, 
and her appearance and manners are suggestive of an exquisite 
combination of the emotional, maternal, domestic woman, and 
the intellectual thinker and worker. She seems an embodiment 
of energj'- and determination — the possessor of a will-power 
potent enough to overcome all obstacles. She is humorous, phil- 
osophical, didatic, pathetic in conversation, rushing on force- 
fully and exhibiting all the rapidity of change and the infinite 
Tariations of a kaleidoscope. 

Her books have few failures, and a most gratifying presenta- 
tion of exceptional and most brilliant successes. Among the 
latter are " Denis Doune," " Played Out," " He Cometh Not, She 
Said," "False Colors," "Theo. Leigh," and others, several of 
which will be recognized as old favorites by American readers. 
It is to be hoped that the depression in business on our side may 
soon sufficiently be lifted so that this very popular writer and 
estimable lady may resume her connection with the American 
public. 

It is a most creditable fact to Englishwomen that, in the pres- 
ent condition of literary production, they occupy so prominent — 
in numbers and quality of efl'ort — a position. The fact becomes 
more creditable when it is understood that many of these women 
are in social positions which would afi"ord them the stimulus of 
ample occupation; and are possessed of sufficient wealth, so that 
they are not forced into literature either to escape from the ennui 
of a life without extended social ameliorations and duties, or for 
the purpose of securing a livelihood. Perhaps Miss Ida Duffus 
Hardy is one to whom this creditable fact has an especial appli- 
cation. Above the necessities of literary efforts, she has appar- 
ently been drawn to her work because she loves it. 

Not far along in the twenties, she has already produced excel- 
lent results. She has written three, perhaps four, works, of which 
the most noticeable are " Glencairn " and " Only a Love Story." 
I have only had opportunity to read the last-named, which, 
although far above mediocrity, is said to be inferior in some 



BOOK-MAKERS. 159 

respects to " Glencairn," an opinion sliared by the author. " Only 
a Love Story " is her latest published production, and is what 
would be popularly termed a " society " novel. It seems to me, 
however, to have a deeper purjDose than the mere portraiture of 
social phases and every-day characters. There is an intensity in 
much of the sentiment of the book, a fierce energy in its action, 
a warmth and a mobile vital ization in its characters, and through- 
out all of it a tender interest, which seem to demonstrate that the 
author is no mere photographer who coldly " focuses " and repro- 
duces a group of ordinary subjects. Some works are based on 
observations directed witliout ; others upon observations directed 
within. The former affords us imitations, the latter, creations — 
that, copies; ihis^ originals. * 

The principal characters in " Only a Love Story " have a 
shapely fullness, a breathing individuality, which make them 
seem the creatures of self-experience. If not, then they are mar- 
velous in their accuracy, and i^rove that simulation may be made 
to equal the fervid earnestness of real feeling. 

Miss Hardy has an artistic face. She is of medium height, 
with a shapely figure. Her head is small, which fact, taken in 
connection with large, brilliant, dark-brown eyes, gives her an 
expression whose intellectual interpretation is impetuous con- 
centration. In this same direction there is an indication of an 
almost morbid activity. Her dark hair, brunette complexion and 
eyes are Oriental in their suggestions ; but these are negatived 
by the absence of a languid repose and by the presence of a lithe 
and strengthful mobility. She is a character the background of 
vrhich seems concealed by impenetrable shadows, in which her 
real nature and life are probably hidden, but whose gloom has the 
effect to heighten, by contrast, the sunny and attractive qualities 
which are lavishly distributed in the middle distance and the 
foreground. It is very pleasant hereabout, although occasionally 
there shoots from the cloud-land beyond a tiny flash, lightning- 
like in its rapidity, scorching the too curious observer and 
leaving behind a perceptibly sulphurous odor of irony or 
sarcasm. 

Miss Hardy's books are warmly praised, and justly so, by the 
English press. Her composition is never heavy or turgid. Her 
presentations are brilliant, rapid as her intellectual processess 
and characterized by a warm, realistic accuracy. She ought to 
be better known on our side of the water. Her creations will 



160 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

interest anywhere, because tliey are cosmopolitan and human. 
One of the most salient characters in " Only a Love Story " is 
Jules Lusada, an American, a poetical and dominating border- 
rufRaQ. He is finely worked up, and his handling will suit the 
American taste, even to his final and summary taking off by a 
stray Frencli bullet. Let me liope that the American public will 
duly and speedily make her acquaintance. 

Miss Hardy has genius through hereditary. Her father, Sir 
Thomas Hardy,* has written a good deal, mainly in the anti- 
quarian line, and has successfully solved some of the mustiest, 
dustiest and least insoluble of the problems which are everlast- 
ingly arising from out the nooks and crannies of the remote past. 

Her mother, Lady DufFus-Hardy, is a writer of considerable 
prominence. Manj'- of her novels have been republished in 
America by Harpers, and have met with prompt recognition. 
Lady Hardy is a great favorite among her friends, of whom 
Americans form no inconsiderable portion, and are by no means 
the least enthusiastic of her admirers. 

Among Lady Hardy's more prominent works are " The Two 
Catherines," " Paul Wynters' Sacrifice," "A Hero's Work," "A 
Woman's Triumph," " Daisy Nicol," and " Lizzie," besides sev- 
eral earlier works, and one which she now has in press. Of 
these the best is probably " Paul Wynters." 

Sir Thomas has been deputy keeper of public records for over 
half a century. His publications are mainlj'^ archaeological and 
historical, and have been published by government order. 

" He lisped in numbers ere the numbers came " implies a pre- 
cocity in expression not limited, in London, to poetical produc- 
tion. Miss Mary Hoppus, who has just launched her first 
literary venture, is scarcely more than twenty years of age. She 
is an orphan, the daughter,! believe, of a late professor in a promi- 
nent educational institute, and lives in company with an only 
brother, also young, in a quaint, comfortable residence near 
Regent's Park. 

Her novel is of the regular three-volume dimensions, and is 
entitled " Five-Chimney Farm." The first volume is devoted to 
pastoral life in an English agricultural district. The rich, warm 
soil of this region is surprisingly fertile in the genesis of char- 
acters who spring up with a rapidity and density that are mar- 
velous — and all this without any especial efibrt at top-dressing 

* Since Deceased. 



BOOK-MAKERS. 161 

or sub-soiliag on the part of Miss Hoppus. Fortunately, while 
she is thus fecund in creation, she is stern and pitiless in destruc- 
tion. If she produces limitlessly, she destroys proportionately. 
She mows down and uproots so that the sun and wind can have 
free access to the plants she proposes to rear and permit to reach 
fruition. One closes the first volume as if from reading a history 
of a new creation and a new deluge. On the A.rarat, at the end 
of volume one, there rests a little ark which contains the few 
characters not drowned in the inundation, and these make their 
way to France, where all are in time to witness, and a few of 
them to get slaughtered by, a French revolution. 

Miss Hoppus is a slender, shv, quaint, little lady, who seems a 
part of the old, old-fashioned house, in which she lives. Its walls 
are hung with rare old prints and paintings, ancient arms, antique 
vases, costly china; and on shelves and cabinets, tables, all heavy, 
dark, and old, are hric-a-hrac odds and ends, books rich with the 
labors of the engraver, portfolios — everything, in short, that is 
rare, curious and old. In these surroundings Miss Hoppus has 
lived, grown, studied and written. She has become permeated, 
as it were, with the atmosphere of this solid, ancient and sombre 
environment. She is antique. Her blonde hair has a twist which 
suggests an old picture; her sleeves are puflFed in a manner 
which links itself intimately with something long past; her tout 
ensemble has a rich and palpable flavor of the antique. 

And yet within this old-fashioned casket are intellectual and 
spiritual diamonds of the very first water. An incessant reader 
and digester, she seems to have devoured and assimilated all 
knowledge, ancient and modern. She is a linguist who reads all 
the dead languages and speaks most of the modern ones. Know- 
ing her isolation, her shyness, the painful embarrassments which 
attend her contact with the world, her book becomes a marvel 
in its accurate knowledge of men and women, their motives, 
their ambitions, their faults. She cannot have gained this in- 
formation from books, or study of character, but from some 
species of intuition or inspiration. She seems to handle with 
equal facility the weighty sequences of great political or diplo- 
matic events, and the elusive intricacies of ordinary flirtations, 
or the more elusive and mysterious relations of a love-affair. 

I am strongly of the opinion that this slender girl, with her 
shy embarrassment, her quaint mannerism, her brown, intro- 
spective eyes, and her thin and almost unsmiling face, has a future 
11 



162 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 



of no ordinary character ; and that she will certainly take a high 
rank among the thinkers and writers of her generation. 

I find upon looking over what I have written, two things which 
I must mention. One of these is that, although I have the names 
of some ten or more writers in my note-hook, I have reached less 
than one-half of them; and who, in order to prevent this letter 
from being too long, will have to wait for some other mail. The 
other thing is that I have quite inadvertently, in the present 
group, put several ladies and but one gentleman. 




"WELCOME TO AMERICA. " MY BOY, SHAKE ! " 



So much the better for the gentleman. He is the escort of all 
these fair and talented women. He has their company all to 
himself; and they start, trusting to his attention and gallantry 
for their safety and comfort. And what a journey these English 
dames, squired bj" the lucky Hatton, have before them! For 
three thousand miles they will go, rocked by Atlantic waVes, 
plunging through mist and storm, and tossed by wintry hurrix 
canes, till they reach the shores of the new world; then a thou- 
sand miles through great cities, skirting the long stretch of ice* 



' BOOK-MAKEKS. ' 163 

bound lakes, across the frozen marshes till they reach the Garden 
City. There, where the sleigh-bells ring out cheerily, and the 
skater's steel cuts the glistening ice ; where the frost has etched 
the window panes, and the Paris of the new world displays its 
miles of marble palaces — there, in dear old Chicago, their journey 
will have but just begun. 

A day, or two days, in The Times' building — whose dimensions 
they will find have no rival in Europe — and tliey arc off again. 
Speeding south, they traverse the illimitable prairies of Illinois, 
cross the frozen Ohio, rush through cotton-fields, whose ragged 
bolls toss drearily in the uneasy winds; down through sugar 
plantations, by negro hovels, across green bayous in wliich alli- 
gators lurk; through the dead cypress woodlands, melancholy 
with their gray and trailing festoons of Spanish moss ; on and on 
till the orange groves, the catalpas, and majestic magnolias, the 
verandaed houses, and the beautiful quadroons of the Crescent 
City are reached, and the Gulf bars their further progress. 

But this is not all or even a considerable portion of the jour- 
ney which must be taken by this lucky Hatton and his com- 
panions. Wherever The Times goes must they go. Away up 
into the cities of Wisconsin, up among the lumber regions of 
Minnesota, where the wind howls dismally among the tufted 
pines ; up to the sombre copper section of Superior, where the 
great crushers are grinding the ore, and the smoke of the fur- 
naces settles in the primeval forests, turning day into night ; over 
to Mackinac, the silent, glacial queen of a frozen realm; and 
thus on and on over thousands of miles of country locked in the 
lethal grasp of winter, and dumb save as the voiceful frost, with 
a mighty force, rends the ice-bound lakes — and even yet their 
journey is not at end. 

Straight as the flight of an arrow they go westward, crossing 
the Father of Waters, the sublime Mississippi, and thence on 
across the ever-sullen Missouri. Now come days of gray, alkali 
deserts, with ragged sage-brush — the very epitome, the quintes- 
sence of desolation. Then the Wasatch, with their lofty plateaus 
and long-reaching ranges; then the miles of snow-sheds, the 
snow-crowned summits, the yawning chasms, canons and ravines 
of the Sierras. Beyond this the Sacramento, the Golden Gate ; 
and then the new life, the unique civilization, the gorgeous 
splendors of the American Eldorado — California — and beyond, 
the other ocean, the Pacific. 



164: SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

It is a jolly trip this just marked out for Hatton and his fair 
proUg^es. They will see more than they ever saw before ; more 
than— dealers in imagination as they are — their wildest dreams 
ever constructed. They will see miners, yellow with the stains 
of the auriferous clay; Indians brilliant in gaudy colorings; 
Asiatics, timid, shrinking from contact with "western barbar- 
ism ; " areas in which all England might be lost beyond recovery ; 
uncouth negroes ; much-married Mormons ; desperadoes to whom 
the click of the pistol is the music of their gods ; shaggy and 
lumbering buffaloes; monstrous grizzlies, which to follow is 
no queen's stag hunt with its cowardl}^ atrocities — all these will 
they see as they pursue their journeyings north, south, east, west, 
taking in all climates and peoples, from boreal Itasca to the 
tropical gulf, from the eastern slopes of the Alleghenies to the 
western slopes of the Coast range. 

Good-by, Hatton ! Good-by, ladies! Bon wy age I 



LETTER XXVI. 

A MODEL PRISON. 

London, Jan. 13, 1878. 

S I wrote some months ago, I fancied that our people at 
home might be interested in prison management, and 
thereupon made an effort to secure an entree to some of 
the representative prisons. I first wrote, as already detailed, to 
the governor of a penitentiary in London, known as Millbank, 
for permission to visit his institution. After a due season of 
delay, an answer came, referring me to some local board. Fur- 
ther investigation revealed the fact that I would have to make an 
application direct to the Secretary of State. I addressed a letter 
to Rt. Hon. Richard Assheton Cross, home secretary, stating that 
I am a journalist representing a paper whose patrons are inter- 
ested in all that pertains to reform, asking permission to visit 
the British prisons, and winding up with a substantial list of 
gentlemen to whom I referred as being perhaps willing to certify 
that my real purpose in making the request was not to convey 
files or jimmies to the prisoners. 



A MODEL PRISON. 165 

It was months ago that I wrote this request. It was so long 
unattended to that I had given the project up, with the conclu- 
sion tliat it was a matter so much beneath the attention of the 
home offlce that my missive liad long since been tossed in the 
waste basket and forgotten. But I was mistaken. British offi- 
cialism may delay, but it does not forget. Two months after 
sending a request to visit some British prisons, I received a doc- 
ument labeled " On Her Majesty's Service," and which included 
permission for me to visit a prison. 

If it requires sixty days to secure permission to visit one 
prison, how many days would be required to secure permission 
to visit all the British prisons ? While life may be long enough 
to work out the problem in theory, it is altogether too brief to 
test it by practice. 

There are several prisons in Great Britain, each of which is 
unlike the others — which should I visit? There is the one at 
Pentonville, which is known as a model prison. There is the 
Millbank prison, which is for Roman Catholic convicts and cer- 
tain other classes of offenders. There is the Portsmouth prison, 
with which are connected the public works. Each of these has 
some special attractions; but, after due consideration, I was 
captured by the phrase " model prison," and determined to be- 
stow the honor of my presence on Pentonville. 

Like Millbank prison, the Pentonville institution is within 
London, being located well up in tlie northern portion of the 
metropolis. I took the underground to King's Cross station, and 
there hailing a hansom, I was in five minutes before the great 
iron gates of the prison. I handed the cabman a shilling. The 
legal fare is a shilling for two miles ; I had been driven about 
three-fourths of one mile. I placed the shilling in his out- 
stretched palm. He did not withdraw it, but held it out, and 
an expression of amazement and disgust came over his face. 

" What's that? " he asked in a doubtful tone, as if he were not 
quite certain. 

"That? That's a shilling." 

" A shilling, is it ? And wot's a shilling for ? " 

"For bringing me up from King's Cross." 

"A shilling for that! A shilling from King's Cross! All 
that distance for a shilling! " 

" Why, isn't that enough ? " 

" Of course not ! Only a shilling from King's Cross ! " 



166 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

"How much more do you want?" 

" Eighteen pence more. 'Alf a crown is little enough from 
King's Cross! " 

" Certainly, if you say so. I didn't know, you know." 

1 reached inside my buttoned coat. A genial smile supple- 
mented the amazement and disgust which had occupied his 
face. I pulled out some silver coins, and then a note-book and 
pencil. With serene composure I wrote his number in my book, 
returned it deliberately to my pocket, and then, with a benevolent 
smile, 1 said: 

" I'm sorry, you know, I didn't know. Eighteen pence, was 
it? Well, here is eighteen pence. Make it two shillings if you 
say so." 

" I won't 'ave yer eighteen pence! " said he, with a foul oath, 
as he struck his horse a furious blow and tore away, leaving the air 
sulphurous with profanity. I insert this occurrence, in the first 
place because it took place exactly as narrated ; and, in the second 
place, because it gives a method for handling cabmen, who are 
the biggest thieves and extortionists in all London. The law is 
strict and unrelenting as to overcharges. I have scarcely had 
anything to do with any cabman who has not attempted an over- 
charge, and I have never yet seen one who would take the over- 
charge after I had taken his number. 

Without, Pentonville does not look much like a place of con- 
finement. The grounds are fronted on all sides by streets, from 
which they are separated only by a brick wall, not higher than 
those which usually surround the grounds of any English resi- 
dence. The prison consists of a number of detached buildings 
within the irregular grounds. They are of brick, and have none 
of that appearance of tremendous strength such as characterizes 
the buildings at Joliet. 

In stating that the buildings are detached, I have given what 
appears to be the case from an exterior view. If one were up in 
a balloon, and should look down in Pentonville, he would see an 
enclosure of eight to ten acres. The wall has some massive 
posterns in front, and small towers, at intervals, for the use of 
guards. The buildings are four or five in number, and are set 
with their ends to the main corridor, from which they radiate 
like spokes in a wheel — the central building being the hub. 

An air of silence and depression seems to prevail in and about 
the prison. The warden who admitted me through the entrance 



A MODEL PRISON. 167 

gateway is a stalwart person, but mildewed with silence. I 
handed him my paper, which lie received, glanced over, returned, 
and then unlocked a small door constructed in the great gate, 
and admitted me, without a single word. I followed a wide, 
graveled walk which led to the main entrance of one of the 
" spokes," and rang the bell. It was opened, after due waiting, 
by a man in blue, who looked at my document, and then turned, 
without a word, and went down the hall and disappeared in a 
side room, into which I followed. There were a couple of 
chairs, a plain desk and table, and two silent men in blue, who, . 
in dumb show, were looking over my credentials. One of them 
took the paper and left the room, while the other sat and gazed 
quietly into vacancy. After a long time the other came back, laid 
a large ledger before me, and said "Sign." I signed my name 
and residence, noticing as I did so that the date of the one pre- 
ceding mine was some three weeks before, whereat I concluded 
that Pentonville is not a favorite resort for picnics and other 
gayeties of excursionists. 

I began to be oppressed with the horrible silence, and to wish 
the Pentonville model prison to the devil, or somewhere where I 
was not. 

My name was scanned rigorously, as if there was a probability 
that I was somebody else who was trying to gain access by a 
reckless forgery. The book was then taken away ; and some min- 
utes later, an undersized veteran in blue, with a score of keys in 
a bunch, entered the room and motioned me to follow him. He 
held in his hand the paper which I had brought, and during our 
tour through the prison it never left his hand. 

Traversing the long hall, we came to a high iron gate, through 
which we passed, and then found ourselves in the center of the 
hub. Radiating from this center are four lofty corridors, which 
contain the cells, which line each side of each corridor, and are 
four tiers in height. It is an admirable arrangement. A man 
standing in the center can take in every cell in the building at a 
glance. In case of an /meute, a force at the center, or a gun, 
would command every portion of the prison. Galleries run 
along in front of each tier of cells. Winding* stairways asce.nd 
and descend at short intervals. Iron platforms with hand rails 
connect the various balconies at the point where they abut on 
the central hall. The high roof is a circular arch through whose 
glass there comes no light. At the inner end of each gallery a 



168 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" lift " is arranged for the hoisting of provisions to the various 
tiers of cells. Here and there were men in blue patrolling the 
balconies, who seemed engaged mainly in keeping silence. 

I think it was the intention of my guide to show me through 
without saying a word — certainly, at least, without my saying a 
word. If such were his intention he encountered at least a par- 
tial failure. He had introduced me to the central hall, and then 
halted, and commenced gazing down the various corridors in 
silence, thereby intimating that I was also to gaze down the cor- 
ridors, and in silence. Since the sepulchral order " Sign ! " there 
had not been a word said. I gave utterance to the second word 
that was spoken since my " row " with the cab-driver: 

" Quite Napoleonic," I said in desperation. " This central 
hall, commanding all the aisles, embodies the same plan em- 
ployed in the reconstruction of Paris — a central place, from 
which streets radiate, and which can be commanded by ar- 
tillery." 

My guide seemed frightened at this outburst. He made no 
answer. I ventured on a question : 

" How many prisoners have you here ? " 

There was an effort to speak, as if he had been tongue-tied for 
years ; it was a minute or two before he could break through his 
habit of silence. Then he spoke, but it was in a scared, hushed 
voice, as if it were an innovation, and he were liable to a fine of 
a guinea a syllable for each utterance. 

" A little over eleven hundred." 

Having broken the ice, having gotten him started, I kept him 
going. 

"Pentonville is knoVn as a model prison, is it not? Why is 
it so called ? " 

" Because the effects of separate confinement were first tried 
here." 

" By separate confinement do you mean solitary confinement? " 

" No. In the system in, use here, every man has a cell to him- 
self. He works in his cell, sleeps in it, eats in it, and never has 
any contact with any other prisoner except in chapel, or when 
exercising." 

" What class of convicts do you have here ? " 

" Only men, and those who have to serve out sentences of over 
five years. All such prisoners have to spend nine months here, 
and then they are sent to Portsmouth and put on the public 



A MODEL PKISON. 169 

works. Formerly they had to stay here eighteen months ; then 
the time was reduced to twelve months, and later, to nine months. 
But let us look at the cells." 

He led the way into an open one on the ground floor. In it 
were a loom, an earthen water-closet, a wash-basin, a stool, 
drinking-cup, table, and a low cot. On the table were two or 
three books. In one corner were some shelves fastened to the 
wall, on which, neatly folded, was packed the bedding. There 
are also a shaded gas-burner and a bell-pull. Each cell is thir- 
teen and a half feet long, seven and a half wide, and nine feet in 
height. The cell, like the hall and corridors, was exquisitely 
clean, and the air perfectly sweet and pure — having none of 
that prison-smell which one notices at Joliet. 

" This cell," said my guide, " is exactly like every other cell in 
the building. All are heated by hot water coming through pipes 
from the basement; and ventilation is secured by pipes con- 
nected with each cell, and which lead into a large central shaft." 

" What books can a prisoner have ? " 

" That depends on who he is. All of them have a Bible and 
prayei"-book, and can get a book from the library every fort- 
night. If a convict is a scholar he can get books oftener." 

"Have you any noted characters here now?" 

" We have no noted characters ; all are unknown ones. When 
a man enters here he ceases to have a name. He becomes a num- 
ber. See here," he said, as he motioned to me to step outside. 
" You see the number on this plate ? " and he pointed to a black, 
metal plate, about four inches square, on which was painted 
a number. " We don't know whether the man in this cell is a 
peer or a costermonger ; we only know that the occupant is 
number 2,001, or whatever the number may be. The plate has 
also another use." 

He stepped into the cell and pulled the bell-cord. A sonorous 
gong rang out at the further end of the hall, and, at the same 
time, the plate turned on a hinge, and stood at right angles to 
the wall. " When anything ails a convict, or if, for any good 
reason, he wishes to see a guard, he pulls his bell, and the plate 
at once indicates which is the cell." 

"What industries are carried on here?" 

"Weaving, tailormg, and shoemaking. Every cell on the 
ground floor is devoted to weaving. Each tier on the upper 
floor has its particular trade." 



170 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" You have, I believe, no contract system in any part of Great 
Britain — that is, the convicts work only for the government? " 

" Yes." 
Do the convicts pay expenses ? " 

"Not here. The cost, last year, of keeping a convict was 
about ten shillings each, a week, while their earnings were about 
six shillings each for the same time." 

"Let us go and see a squad exercising," and he led the way 
down one of the corridors till we came to a small side door. 
This he unlocked, when we passed through, and found ourselves 
in a large open space, known as an exercising-yard. Here are 
three stone walks, circular in form, one within the other, the 
largest being perhaps fifty feet in diameter, and the smallest some 
thirty feet across. Around these three walks was circling a 
gang of convicts at a five-mile pace, its operations being super- 
intended by a couple of guards. The uniform is not one which 
a gentleman would select to wear to an evening party or an 
opera. In color, it is a sort of whitey-brown, or dirty yellow, 
as if the men were miners who had been working in yellow soil. 
The cap is conical, the coat a blouse or smock, the breeches 
loose, and cut ofl' just below the knee. Striped stockings of a 
dark color, and low, hob-nailed shoes complete the dress. The 
faces of the convicts are smoothly shaven, and their hair cropped 
close to the scalp. 

"They are exercised in gangs, as you see; and it is so arranged 
that each man gets an hour each day in the open air, providing 
the weather will permit. Once the visors of their caps were 
made long, so that when turned down they served as a mask, 
and this was always worn when the convicts were in company 
with each other. The mask system has been abolished, as it 
didn't seem to eflfect any particular good." 

There are five exercising yards, all in the main consisting of 
concentric rings, like the ones just described. The men move 
for a short time in one direction, when, at the command "halt I 
face about!" they stop, turn about and commence moving the 
other way. Moving with intervals of almost six feet, the dis- 
tance, together with the rapid motion and the vigilance of the 
wardens, prevents anything like effective communication among 
the convicts. 



A BRITISH PRISON. 171 

LETTER XXVII. 

A BRITISH PBISON. 

London, Jan. 17, 1878. 

fN my last, I conducted such readers of The Times as were 
kind enough to accompany me, to Pentonville prison, where 
I was obliged to leave them a couple of days, including 
a Sunday. Hoping that none of them are any the worse for hav- 
ing been under lock and key for a short period, we will, with 
their permission, finish our inspection of the model prison. 

I continued, as we progressed, to ply my guide with an inces- 
sant succession of questions. It had been such hard work to get 
his mouth open that I dared not let him shut it. Hence, I kept 
his unused jaws in a condition of activity which must have had 
a most fatiguing effect. 

"By the way," I asked, "is the idea involved in this prison 
an English invention — that is to say, is it the first of the 
kind ? " 

" O, certainly. It's an English idea. It's been in use now 
about forty years." 

Having, since my arrival in England, had a rather unpleasant 
experience in endeavoring to act the part of an evangelist in 
spreading American ideas, I omitted to tell him that Pentonville 
prison is founded upon an American model ; that Messrs. Craw, 
ford and Russell were sent over to Philadelphia to examine the 
system there in use; and that, some three years later, in 1837, 
Lord John Russell, Secretary of State, issued a circular recom- 
mending the employment of the Philadelphia, or separate, system 
of penal treatment. 

Just here some English gentleman may be tempted to exclaim: 
" Oh, well, you know, America may have taught us something 
about handling convicts, because she has had so many more of 
them, you know ! " 

To which I could only respond that, if America has had an 
unusual experience in regard to .her great number of criminals, 
there is only to be pleaded her English descent, and the uncom- 
mon cheapness of steerage travel between Liverpool and the 
shores of the New World. 

As intimated, I did not inform my guide about Crawford and 
Russell, or the parliamentary debates, or the official circular of 



172 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

the Secretary of State. I knew lie was disgusted at the rate I 
was asking questions ; and, in case I told him we had the same 
thing in America, he might, in his just irritation, have asked me 
why the deuce I had traveled three thousand miles to see some- 
thing which 1 knew all about already, 

"Can a man shorten his period here by good behavior?" I 
asked. 

" No ; he must serve out his nine months in any case." 

" What inducements, then, has he to good conduct ? " 

" Several. If he carries a first-class certificate when he leaves 
liere, it is taken into consideration at the public works, and gets 
him, in time, a ticket-of-leave. Besides that, good behavior 
counts for something, here. A convict may receive and send a 
greater number of letters if his deportment is correct. He has 
greater privileges in o|her directions. He is taken into the 
bakery, or some other portion of the prison, where his work is 
light, and he has companions. Those who work well, and have 
no report against them, receive a gratuity for a certain amount 
of labor. In short, a good-conduct badge entitles a convict to 
many little favors which he highly values." 

" How about letters to friends? " 

" A convict may write one letter when he is received, and an- 
other at the end of three months. If he be all right, the intervals 
between writing grow shorter. All letters must be from respect- 
«,ble friends, and contain no news of general events, or anything 
of an improper tendency." 

" Can they receive visits ? " 

" Yes, at stated intervals of three months, and for half an hour. 
IVhen a convict sees a relative or friend, they communicate 
through iron grates, which keep them some distance apart. Be- 
tween them a man is stationed who hears all that is said, and 
who sees that nothing is passed to the prisoner." 

Just then we turned into a corridor, and almost ran against a 
stout, pleasant-faced individual in plain clothes. My guide in- 
stantly placed himself at " attention," and brought his hand to 
his cap with a respectful salute. 

" Who is it?" asked the man in plain clothes, as he looked me 
over. 

" A gentleman to see the prison on the order of the Secretary 
of State." 

" Any profession ? " 



A BRITISH PKISON. 173- 

I informed him tliat I was a humble American pilgrim, a 
journalist by choice as well as necessity, and engaged in getting 
information about all sorts of English excellencies for the pur- 
pose of transporting them to the soil of the New World. 

He graciously bowed, told my guide to "show him every- 
thing," and then strode away. 

"The governor of the prison," said my guide, humbly and 
hurriedly, as soon as the dignitary was safely out of ear-shot. 

I may here say that substantially the same thing occurred at 
short intervals during the remainder of my visit. Whenever we 
passed into any new room some Cerberus would pounce on us 
and look me over with an expression which said as plainly as 

words : 

" Oh, I see throuo-h you ! You've got a pocket full of files, and 
there are jimmies under your coat, and notes for convicts in the 
lining of your hat." 

" A gentleman to see the prison on an order from the Secretary 
of State," would say my guide, apologetically, and with an air 
which seemed to assert : " I know as well as you do that there's 
something wrong here ; but I'll catch him at it yet." 

The doctor rather pleased me. When we entered the hall of 
the infirmary, my guide halted me before the open door of a 
room, which, from its array of bottles, I saw was the drug-shop. 
A man in civilian's dress stood in the further corner, at a desk, 
with his side and half-face toward me. My guide entered, 
reached the middle of the room, drew himself up, halted, and 
saluted. 

" Who is it?" said the man at the desk, without looking up. 

" A gentleman to see the prison, on an order from the Secretary 
of State." 

"Who is he?" 

"An American journalist." 

" What does he want ? " 

" To learn how this great country conducts her penal institu- 
tions," I answered from the hall, through the open door. 

" Humph ! " said the doctor. 

My guide backed out. The doctor never looked up. He 
missed seeing my benignant face. It might have been the great- 
Josef Medill who stood before him, and yet he would never have 
known it. 

" Do you have to resort to punishment to any considerable ex- 



174 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

tent?" I asked, as soon as we had pulled away from the stoical 
doctor. 

"Not very largely." 

"What punishments are inflicted?" 

" Solitary confinement on bread and water, and loss of privi- 
leges.'' 

" In America, we sometimes duck a convict in ice-water when 
he is feverish with heart disease or some other form of disobe- 
dience. Do you cool off your refractory subjects in that way ; or 
do you use the shower-bath, or the whip?" 

" In cases where a prisoner assaults another we use the whip, 
and he gets from five to twenty lashes, according to his oflFense. 
We never use shower-baths or ice-water punishment. If a con- 
vict tries to escape he is obliged, when he goes to bed, to put his 
clothes outside the cell, so that in case he should get away he 
would have nothing to wear." 

The governor had told him to "show me everything." He 
obeyed orders, except so far as nearly everything I wished to see 
was concerned. He did not, for instance, show me the cells for 
solitary punishment, or the cat with which the lashing is done, 
and a few other little things of the same sort. 

The general plan of the infirmary is that of cells, each of 
"which is for a patient. They differ from the ordinary cells simply 
in being a trifle larger, and with more light and ventilation. 
There are two rooms which contain several beds each. These 
are for patients whose cases demand an extra allowance of fresh 
air. 

"What are the prevailing types of disease?" 

" Nearly all are bronchitis, consumption and catarrh." 

"Don't you have fevers?" 

" Very rarely." 

" How about the eff'ect of separate confinement on the mental 
condition of the convicts?" 

" Oh, it doesn't affect them unfavorably." 

" Is there no increase in lunacy over that connected with other 
systems of confinement ? " 

" No ; on the contrary the average is in favor of separate con- 
finement." 

Here I may inject a word or two bearing on this question. 
Originally, the statistics of insanity showed that there were sev- 
eral times as many cases at Pentonville as among convicts in 



A BRITISH PRISON. 175 

other institutions. At one time the cases of insanity in the 
model prison reached the extraordinary total of a fraction over 
sixty-two for each ten thousand prisoners, while in the other in- 
stitutions the percentage was only 5.8. By shortening the term 
of imprisonment from eighteen months to nine months, and by 
other alterations and improvements, such as abolishing the mask, 
better ventilation, and the brisk, out-door daily walk, the ratio 
of insanity has been reduced to nearly one-sixth of its original 
dimensions, although, I believe, Pentonville still leads all other 
prisons and systems in its percentage of lunacy. 

" Do you have difBculty in preventing the prisoners from com- 
municating with each other?" I asked, as we were inspecting 
the bakeries. 

" It is utterly impossible to prevent all communication. The 
men exchange signs and glances when they are exercising. 
Sometimes in passing a cell a convict will toss in a note. In the 
chapel, although they are separated by partitions which reach 
above their shoulders, they manage sometimes to pass notes to 
each other, although there are wardens on elevated seats, who 
overlook every portion of the chapel. They also have a dumb 
alphabet, somewhat like that in use by mutes. Another method 
is by rapping softly on the walls of the cells. One rap means 
«, two means b, and so on through. With this they will commu- 
nicate with each other, telling their names, history, offense, and 
other matters. It is a sort of telegraphic system, and although 
wardens in list slippers patrol the corridors all the time at night, 
and are constantly flashing their bull's-eyes into the cells, the 
thing can't be wholly prevented. Move on there! Look the 
other way! " 

This last remark was addressed to a convict who was standing 
at the door of a cell, a few yards away, and was gazing very in- 
tently at the warden and his visitor. Very humbly and rapidly, 
the convict turned his back and walked away. 

All the convicts seem to be under a sort of military drill and 
discipline. Whenever we entered a bake-room or other place 
where there were any of them, they instantly, upon our appear- 
ance, ranged themselves in line, and stood faced to the front till 
we passed. 

The ration is a plentiful one, consisting of meat, bread, pota- 
toes, soup, and cocoa — tea or coflee not being allowed. The 
prisoners all seem robust and healthy, there being in the in- 



176 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

firmary not more than a dozen out of a total of over eleven 
hundred convicts. 

My guide rushed me along at such a pace that he had shown 
me everything, raced me througli to the front hall, and had me- 
locked out into the street in less than an hour from the time of 
my entrance. Evidently visitors are not in demand at Penton- 
ville. If I ever go there again, it will certainly not be under any 
pressure less potent than a government escort. 

It is claimed tliat the separate system now in use at Penton- 
ville has great advantages oyer its predecessor — the " silent "^ 
system — in reforming the convict. It certainly has one great 
superiority over the system in use at Joliet in preventing the as- 
sociation of criminals, whereby the comparatively young and 
innocent are mixed by contact with the hardened ruffians in the 
same gang. Under the Pentonville system, men are thrown upon 
themselves. If there be anj^ good remaining in their nature, it 
is apt to be developed by reflection, and by the absence of ma- 
lignant examples, and ferocious sympathy. It is to be feared 
that there is much hypocrisy in the profession of religious inter- 
est among criminals; nevertheless, all are not to be regarded 
with suspicion; and hence, making due allowance for the spu- 
rious professions of the Pentonville convicts, there is no question 
that most substantial reformatory results are obtained from, the 
system in use. 



LETTER XXVIII. 

LONDON 'BUS DRIVER. 

London, January 24, 1878. 

tHE next best thing to keeping one's own carriage in Lon- 
don is to ride by the side of the driver on an omnibus. 
The perch is an elevated one. One looks down on the 
crowds and gains an extended coup d^ceil of the streets. Elevated 
so high, one is above the brick walls with their tops armed with 
fractured glass, and can take in the yards beyond en passant. I 
may say that, after having thus looked over many hundreds of 
these brick and glass defenses to the average "Englishman's. 



LONDON 'bus driver. 177 

castle," I am satisfied that they are not erected to guard anything 
very precious. Rather they seem to be barriers put up to prevent 
the world from seeing what a poor, dingy, unprepossessing 
"yard" often lies behind them. A few stunted flowers, a few 
square inches of grass, a thriving ivy, these are the treasures 
which arc " protected " by these lofty walls with their broken 
bottles and their general noli-me-tangere expression. 

It reminds one of the Scotchman who made such a fight with 
the highwaymen because lie was ashamed to let them know how 
contemptible was the amount he had in his purse. 

A seat by the 'bus driver has other advantages than those con- 
nected with sight-seeing. The driver is a character of inex- 
haustible interest. His world is limited in one respect — not 
extending beyond the streets along which, year after year, he 
comes and goes But the characters, incidents, occurrences 
within this world are limitless, and he knows them as the lover 
knows the details of his mistress' features, or a skillful violinist 
knows the stops on the finger-board. 

Views of life taken from such an elevated standpoint are 
broader, freer, than those which we ordinary mortals obtain from 
the dead level of the human plane. The driver is near enough 
to humanity to comprehend it and sympathize with it, and yet 
sutBciently remote not to be tainted with the dirt of its jostling 
elbows, or to be splashed by the mud of its passing wheels. His 
views of life are, therefore, at once correct and cleanly. 

Withal, as a general thing, he is sociable. He has observed 
much and is willing to communicate his knowledge to a patient 
and respectful listener. Such am I ; and I hereby publicly and 
most gratefully tender my sincere thanks to the guild of 'bus 
drivers for the mass of interesting and always peculiar informa- 
tion with which they have favored me. 

Let me say here, for the benefit of any one who may be dis- 
posed to become a student in this school, that he must come 
humbly, and as a learner. His soul must be a tabula rasa. He 
must sit at the feet of the professors on the box as at those of a 
Gamaliel. He must commence by forcing himself to believe 
that he knows nothing. Through all his course of study he must 
always ask — never communicate. If he be thus humble, and 
solicitous to learn, there is no end to the information he will ac- 
quire, the novel, strengthening, valuable philosophy he will 
become imbued with. 
13 



178 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

One's admiration of the 'bus driver increases as one knows him 
better. He is, in the main, a philosopher whose study is human 
nature. But he is much more than a mere philosopher. He has 
Ills practical duties to perform. All the time that he is studying 
the great subject of humanity, he also fills the not inconsiderable 
role of instructor to the endless succession of students who place 
themselves beneath his care. One would fancy that either of 
these pursuits would be enough for the capacity, the time, the 
genius of one man. Each of them is suflBcient in the case of an 
ordinary man. But he is no ordinary man ; fatiguing and com- 
prehensive as are these two roles, they constitute but a small part 
of the duties of this wonderful person. He has a thousand other 
things to do. 

He is careful of the interests of the company, and hence has 
an eye upon the passing tlirongs so as never to overlook the up- 
lifted finger, the waving umbrella of the would-be passenger. 
Nay, more; so acute is his observation that he can tell by the 
mere expression of a person whether he or she wishes a 'bus, and 
if so, whether or not the particular one that is passing. This is 
no boy's play; but this is not yet all. He must keep his eye out 
for vehicles which are in his way, and be prepared to deluge the 
offender with whatever class of chaflF or abuse is best suited to 
tlie case. This feature is a wonderful one to the student who sits 
humbly beside tlie great man. The flexibility and adaptation of 
the Jehu of the 'bus are marvelous. The driver of a dust-cart 
obviously needs different treatment from that deserved by a cos- 
termonger who drives a donkey-cart, or the stiff and liveried 
cuacliman of some swell turnout. All these, so to speak, require 
different " handling," and thej^ get it. The chaff or the rebuke 
which is extended to a coal-cart is varied in turn as the offender is 
an equestrian, a flower-hawker, a four-horse drag, or a swell, with 
a glass in one eye, wlio pulls the ribbons over a pair of high- 
stepping thoroughbreds. 

Nor is this all. He notices everything worthy of note in the 
street or on the sidewalk. A woman with a pretty foot is de- 
tected and commented on. He sees everything unique and outre, 
and gives it a passing comment. Nor does he stop here. He 
sees the driver of every other 'bus that we meet, and they ex- 
change mystic signals with their whips, and confidences by 
gestures, and enigmatical sentences, such as, " 'E's got it 'ot!" 
There are whole volumes exchanged between two drivers, in 



LONDON 'bus DKIVEK. 179 

passing, by a movemeat of the thumb, a lifting of the butt of the 
whip. 

And finally this wonderful man has, in addition to all these 
duties, to keep up an incessant yelling to pedestrians. If we are 
going to the bank and Whitechapel, he calls at every few steps, 
^'Bink! Bink! Wichipple! Wichipple! Bing-Bink!" If we 
are going toward Royal Oak it is equally his duty to bawl " Re- 
luke! Re-luke! " and to see that not a single person who desires 
to go in either direction shall be left behind. 

Of course an individual with such peculiarities of character 
must be equally marked in his personal appearance. There are 
differences naturally, but they are of degree rather than of kind. 
The driver who pulls the reins over a pair of 'osses that travel 
along aristocratic Knightsbridge and Piccadilly absorbs in his 
appearance more or less of the aristocratic atmosphere through 
which he constantly travels. His brother Jarvy, who comes 
down Hamstead road, and so along Tottenham Court road toward 
the city, breathes an air impregnated with the odors of work- 
shops and the pungent ammoniacal aroma of mews and stabling. 
He has less hauteur than the other. In politics he is a trifle less 
a Tory, and occasionally would seem to have wild and fantastic 
bursts which are pronouncedly democratic in their tendencies. 
He is, in short, a little less genteel and poised and more radical 
than the Piccadilly aristocrat. 

Otherwise they are much the same. The representative 'bus 
driver is a man about fifty to sixty years of age. He wears 
always a dress hat. He is stout as to body, and, during these 
wintry days of spring, he has his throat so wrapped up that the 
diameter of his neck is but little less than that of his capacious 
waist. His skin is the color of well-tanned sole leather — except 
his cheeks. These are the richest purple, like ripest skin of 
grapes. His jowls are great masses of flesh, which flow over his 
neck-wrapping like a monstrous fleshy cataract. His nose is a 
gigantic bulb, a royal purple in tone, mottled with spots of crim- 
son and varied as to surface by a network of pits, or rather 
caverns. His dress hat is pitched well forward on his nose ; his 
hands are always carefully gloved ; his reins are clasped method- 
ically in his left hand, and his whip, when in rest, crosses in front 
of him at an artistic angle. 

I have two of these distinguished gentlemen whom I usually 
patronize, or, to be more exact, who patronize me. One is a 



180 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

veteran, who comes down from breezy Kilburn, and who usually 
has a smart bouquet in his button-hole. The otlier is a younger 
man, who comes over from Bayswater. They piclc me up at 
Praed street, and tlien we go rattling over the stone blocks of 
Edgware road till we strike Marble x\.rch of Hyde Park. Thence 
we bowl merrily along the wooden pavement of Oxford street ; 
turn and go grinding and crunching over the macadam of swell 
Regent street; arouud into Pall Mall, and thence by Trafalgar 
square and Nelson's towering monument into the Strand. 

The veteran instructs by experience; the junior by observa- 
tion. The one sees everything that does occur; the other has 
seen everything that has occurred. The elder is a staunch con- 
servative; the younger has just a flavor of radicalism. Both hate 
the Rooshans; and both agree in believing that London is a 
center around which all the rest of the world revolves, getting 
from it heat, light and civilization. 

From the elder I have received such stores of information that 
I feel I am a better and a wiser man. It is not always that he 
will talk. We sometimes go a whole trip without an exchange 
of words. He is wrapped in deep thought; and knowing how 
mighty are the problems which now and then invoke the aid of 
his capacious intellect, I invariably respect his silence. Some- 
times, however, he talks. On such occasions it is when the flavor 
of juniper on his breath is strongest, and a richer than purple 
dyes his cheek. 

A couple of daj's ago when he came along he was in his better 
or more communicative mood. As we waited a moment, he gave 
a jerk of his thumb toward the sidewalk. A man stood there 
whose countenance was a study. His complexion was a dirty 
red. His features were swollen until the flesh seemed on the 
point of bursting through the skin. One eye was closed. The 
other looked through a narrow slit whose edges exuded pus. He 
looked like a huge, disgusting boil in a high state of inflamma- 
tion. 

" For heaven's sake, what ails that creature? " I asked. 

" Forty goes o' gin a day is wot's the matter with 'im," he 
answered. 

" Who is he ? Do you know him ? " 

" Yes, I knows 'im. 'E's the time-keeper for the 'bus com- 
pany." 

He then proceeded to give me some points in the chap's his- 



LONDON 'BUS DRIVER. 



181 



tory. He had been transported many years ago for some crime. 
This led me to ask how the London Omnibus Company would 
employ such men. 

" The company's a bad lot," he went on to say. " Now, there's 
the general manager of the company. 'E's a bad un, 'e is, too.'" 

" What's he done, and what kind of a man is he ? " I asked. 




liONDON 'bus DRIVBB. 



" He's a regular bad un. A good many years ago, 'e was sent 
across the water for somethin' 'e'd done. Wen 'is time is hout, or 
he gets a ticket-o'-leaf, he comes back and is made the general 
manager of the Omnibus Company. Then he cuts down our 
wages and puts all sorts o' chaps to watchin' the guards to see 
whether they was fair with the company. But it isn't all. There's 
something worse to come. 'E's an atheist, 'e is, and don't believe 



182 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

in either God nor devil. And that isn't all neither. 'E's a " 

here he paused as if to give me time to brace myself for the 
tremendous revelation, and then added, " 'E's a teetotaler! " 

Was there ever anything more cumulative than this? He 
"begins small. He only lets out at first that the man was once a 
thief, or something similar. Then comes the more damaging fact 
that he employs " spotters " to prevent the guards from stealing. 
Then he begins to pile it on. He is an atheist ! Mark w^hat a 
magnificent crescendo, and which leads and prepares one for the 
astounding denouement. And now finally comes the tremendous 
finish — the thief, the suspicious official, the hardened atheist capa 
the infamy of his life by being a — teetotaler! 

I was too much thunderstruck with the climax to even reply 
to his closing question, " And wot worse could be said of a man 
than that ? " 

I asked: 

" What wages are paid drivers and conductors ? " 

" The London Omnibus Company pays drivers six shillings a 
day, and conductors they gets four shillings a day," 

" For how many hours' work ? " 

" Fourteen hours a day." 

To American readers not familiar with sterling money, I may 
say that these amounts respectively represent $1 50 and $1 per 
day. 

" Can a man live on four shillings a day ? " 

" 'E cawn't, indeed. If 'e's got a family 'e doesn't 'ave a 
bloomin' time on four shillings a day." 

" I suppose as the guards have to live, they make it up some- 
how ? " 

" Of course they does. They 'as a 'ard time. Many of 'em 
never sees their families except in bed from one year's end ta 
t'other." 

" How many 'busses has the company?" 

"About fifteen hundred." 

"And what does each 'bus average a day?" 

"From two pun ten to three pun ten" ($12 50 to $17 50). 
" They pays ten shillings a day to driver and guard, and it costs 
just a pound more a day to feed and keep up the stock." 

" Then the profit is from one pound ten to two pounds ten a 
day on each 'bus ? " 

"That's hit to a farden." 



GEOEGE ELIOT. 183 

"Well, I should call that a pretty fair profit. Omnibus stock 
must be a good tiling to have around in a dull season. How many 
miles does a team travel in a day ? " 

" From ten to fifteen. Never hany more than that." 

" Is this a regular 'bus ? " 

"No; this 'bus do not belong to the company. There's a man 
as owns three 'buses, and we runs in with the regilar ones and 
makes time with 'em. Our guvner isn't no 'bus company. 'E 
pays drivers seven shillings a day and guai'ds five shillings. 'E 
don't spend his money for detectives a-watchin' to see if a guard 
knocks down a penny — expendin' two shillings to save a ha'- 
penny. 'E says to us: ' Boys, I'm a-runnin' these 'busses to make 
money. I don't want to make too much. All I wants is wot is 
fair. Now if you boys wants a drink any time just 'ave it. I 
shawn't watch you, an' if the receipts come in satisfaktory, hits 
all right. If they isn't satisfaktory, an' I thinks you doesn't 
divide strictly fair an' honorbul, tiien I'll discharge you quicker'n 
winkin'.' That's wot 'e says, an' I calls that a helevated way o' 
doin' business." 

I agreed with him, and wondered how such an arrangement 
would work in Chicago. Perhaps Messrs. Lake, Turner, and 
the rest may avail themselves of this suggestion and introduce 
the system on the street railways. 



LETTER XX:IX. 

GEORGE ELIOT. 

London, Jan. 31, 1878. 

tN a letter sent a short time since I gave sketches of some 
English writers whom I have met, from time to time ; and 
in that I promised to continue the subject as opportunity 
offered. The original intention was to group certain classes of 
writers in each letter — novelists in one, journalists and essayists 
in another, scientists in a third, and so on. I find, however, that 
such a grouping is not possible, for the reason that many of the 
English writers do not belong to any one class, but to several. 



184 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Men like Justin McCarthy, for instance, are novelists, essayists, 
journalists, all in one. Hence, abandoning the original plan 
of groups of similarities, I shall take the English bookmakers 
as I find them on my note-book, and shall pay no attention to 
anything save their personal qualities. 

The foremost novelist in England to-day is George Eliot. She 
is not only the first in England, but since the death of George 
Sand — whom she resembles in many respects — she is the first 
lady novelist in existence. At least, such seems to be the fact to 
one who is within the powerful magnetism of her presence. It 
may be that, at a great distance, she might seem less conspicu- 
ous. In fact, while alwaj^s recognizing her great genius, she 
never seemed so alone in the possession of transcendant ability 
as since I have come within the atmosphere of her life and la- 
bors. Probably you who are in distant America can judge her 
more accurately; but in no case can distance, however great, 
much impair the dimensions of her commanding position. 

Before describing the George Eliot of to-day, let me refer for a 
moment to her earlj^ life. Her father was steward of the estates 
of the Marquis of Aylesbury, at Nuneaton, and those of Sir 
Robert Peel at Tamworth. He was a very successful manager, 
and when lie died he left his business to a son, who yet cares for 
the same estates. I know nothing of Miss Evans' early life fur- 
ther than that her first literary work dates back to 1845 or 1846, 
and was a translation from the German of Strauss' "Life of 
Jesus." The rationalistic quality of this work, and the knowl- 
edge of German necessary to its translation, afford one a hint as 
to the spiritual tendencies of, and the amount of informatioa 
possessed by, one who could then have been only a very young 
girl. Her next production made its a.\)\)eara.nce in Blackwood^ s, 
and was entitled " Scenes in Clerical Life." Her first hit was 
" Adam Bede." Perhaps it may be stated as probable that Miss 
Evans was stimulated in the direction and production of fiction 
by the wonderful success of Charlotte Bronte, whose " Jane 
Eyre" had just then taken the English world by storm. 

At that period in Miss Evans' life, or at least many years ago, 
George H. Lewes was editor of some popular magazine — I be- 
lieve The Westminster Review. He is a man* well known in lit- 
erature, having written " Physiology of Common Life," " The 
Life of Goethe," a translation of Comte's philosophical works, 

* Since Deceased. 



GEOKGE ELIOT. 185 

and other valuable and elevated books. Mr. Lewes and Miss 
Evans became friends. Soon after this, Lewes' wife eloped with 
Thornton Hunt, a son of the famous Leigh Hunt — a person who 
in appearance and intellect was every way inferior to the man 
whose wife he carried away. There were some children, whose 
motherless condition excited Miss Evans' pity, and she took up 
her residence in Lewes' house, in order to care for them. By 
some trick, Mrs. Lewes managed to get an interview with Lewes 
under circumstances which had the effect to prevent a divorce 
during her lifetime. She then left, and never returned. Lewes 
and Miss Evans went abroad, and were united under the laws 
of a foreign state. Whatever may have been the quality of the 
union then, the subsequent death of Mrs. Lewes has had the 
effect to make it less objectionable. 

I have thus very briefly outlined George Eliot's earlier life, for 
the reason that there is a very general misunderstanding in re- 
gard to it in America, and because it furnishes an explanation 
of her extraordinary sensitiveness, her reserve, her almost total 
seclusion from the general public. 

George Eliot is a woman who must have passed her tenth lus- 
trum. Despite this, her hair, a very dark brown, has none of 
those silver threads which one might expect when the burden 
of over half a century of years is superimposed by incessant 
labor and by experiences full of desolation. She is not hand- 
some. Her face is long, pale, with a small, sensitive mouth. Her 
eyes are a vivid, warm, blue-gray, full of depth, now keenly per- 
ceptive, now dreamily introspective, always full of sadness. Her 
hair, worn low, gives a womanly effect to a finel3'-intellectual 
forehead. Her general expression is that of wearied sensitive- 
ness — a sensitiveness whose development touches so closely on 
suffering that they merge into each other, leaving it doubtful 
where the one ends or the other begins. 

Despite its sadness and suggestion of suffering, it is a face full 
of resolute determination. This quality, however, seems the 
dominancy of pure will-power. Her slender figure has no ex- 
pression of robust energy. Her will seems far in excess of her 
physical capacities ; and her energy is thus an intellectual instead 
of a physical fact. She is, in spite of her sensitive suggestions, 
full of a grand repose. Her voice is low and penetrating ; and 
she is, almost without exception, one of the greatest of living 
conversationalists. 



186 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" Do you know George Eliot well ? " I inquired of a well-known 
essayist. 

" Yes, I do." 

" Wliat is your estimate of lier ? " 

" Well, I'll tell you. I am in a position where I often meet 
such people as Huxley, Tyndall, Browning, and others. I am 
not afraid to meet them, for I may say without any vanity that I 
am their peer. But with George Eliot it is different. She knows 
more than I do. I am afraid of her. She knows everything. 
History, philosophy ancient and modern, all sciences and lan- 
guages are known to her. She is the most accomplished amateur 
pianist in England." 

"And so you think " 

" I think she is the most adoraoie woman that ever lived! " 

What the witty Mrs. Trench once said of Madame de Stael — . 
that she is " consolingly ugly " — will apply to George Eliot,, 
with the reservation, however, that her plain features are so 
sanctified by her expression that she becomes a very beautiful 
woman. She is morbidly sensitive in regard to her appearance 
and certain phases of her life. She has been offered fabulous 
sums by London photographers if she would sit for her picture, 
but she has always refused. So far as I know there is not a pic- 
ture of her in existence. She goes little or none in society, but 
has weekly receptions, to which only a certain class is admit- 
ted. She may be often seen at the classical matinees, given 
every Saturday at St. James' Hall ; and occasionally she may be 
seen on the street with a pair of spanking bays, a very swell car- 
riage, and liveried servants. 

I have been assured that she has already cleared £40,000 on 
her last work, "Daniel Deronda." This is a godsend in one 
sense, for although Lewes is a man of unquestioned ability, his 
books do not sell. 

Her home-life is a very charming one. She exercises an active 
supervision, and develops a most comprehensive management 
and exquisite taste in every detail, of the household. In compo- 
sition, she is very slow and methodical, writing, I have been 
assured, not more than from forty to sixty lines a day. When a 
book is completed, she is in such a state of nervous exhaustion 
that Mr. Lewes takes her to Italy, or Southern France, to re- 
cuperate. While writing she must be scrupulously arranged as 



GEORGE ELIOT. 187 

to person, while every detail of her surroundings must be in har- 
monious place. 

Her information is encyclopedical in its extent, and as exact as 
the sciences. She belongs to a materialistic school of thought, 
in which Leslie Stephens and George H. Lewes occupy about the 
same position that do Huxley and Tyndall in the scientific school 
of which they are the head. 

I may conclude this notice of her with a conversation which I 
had with a gentleman who has known her many years: 

" How do you account for her extreme sensitiveness, and the 
palpable flavor of hopelessness — something despairing — which 
seems to pervade all her works ? " 

" I think," said my friend, " it may be because all great genius 
is more or less morbid and sensitive. There is, however, an or- 
thodox element which sees in this hopelessness a consequence of 
her religious belief, or rather unbelief In its view, she writes 
as one without faith, without hope. But apart from this, she is 
a most extraordinary woman. She is a profound student and a 
genuine artist. She never undertakes anything, without com- 
plete, exhaustive preparation." 

" Why did she write ' Daniel Deronda ? ' There are people un- 
appreciative enough to assert that she wrote it in order to bid for 
the support of the Jewish world." 

" It is not so She wrote the book because she became inter- 
ested in Jewish history and Jewish men and women, whose 
record as a race is full of the most dramatic interest to an artist 
like herself Moreover, she was led into it by a chivalrous desire 
to right a wronged people, just as she was led to taking charge 
of Lewes' motherless children." 

" But you know Disraeli has been all over the same ground?" 

" Yes, and no. Her work is an entire contrast to Disraeli's. 
She has elaborated the genuine qualities of tlie Jewish people. 
Disraeli is a snob. He could handle only princes and people 
who occupied high social positions. She has constructed charac- 
ters which Disraeli could not even understand. In short, I be- 
lieve 'Daniel Deronda' to be the highest production of an 
inspired artist." 

My friend then proceeded to argue «that, in addition to these 
motives for writing " Daniel Deronda," there are others, promi- 
nent among which is a desire to perpetuate a very profound and 



188 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

subtle philosophy connected with social life. But as this feature 
belongs more especially to a review of her books rather than a 
sketch of the woman, I omit his conclusions. 



LETTER XXX 

DSPARTMENT OP THK EXTERIOR. 

London, Feb. 5, 1878. 

to gain admission into either House of Parliament during 
the evenings devoted to debate on the motion for a vote of 
credit, has been as difficult for an outsider as getting into 
heaven under the most cast-iron, exclusive system of orthodox 
salvation. In the first place, the accommodations for spectators 
are miserably circumscribed — it being in the House of Parlia- 
ment, as in every other public building in the country, the case 
that everything is for the officials and nothing for the public. 
The latter seems regarded as an impertinent nuisance, which has 
no business with official matters; and to snub and restrain which 
no end of agencies is employed. If England would take the 
money which she now pays to policemen and other understrap- 
pers to keep back and brow-beat the public, and would use it to 
enlarge the spectators' galleries of her public buildings, there 
would be ample room for everybody, and some to spare. 

The House of Commons has, away up under the roof, a kennel, 
grated over on the side which overlooks the members' seats. 
This is the "women's gallery." It holds the enormous number 
of forty! One choosing to do so might draw from this fact a 
conclusion as to the estimate placed upon women. This isolation 
is the logical outgrowth of a domestic system akin to that of the 
Turks, in which the seclusion of women is demanded. 

This narrow kennel, with its close grating, is a permanent in- 
sult to every English woman. It says, in substance: "Women 
are so trivial and conteraptible that there is no need of any ex- 
tended accommodations admitting them to witness the conduct 
of public business. And there is so little confidence to be placed 
in them that a grating must be used to prevent their getting up 



DEPARTMENT OF THE EXTEKIOR. 189 

improper flirtations with the distinguislied and irresistible legis- 
lators in the hall below." 

As exhibited by the construction of the House of Commons, 
the gradation of things here is about thus: Officialism, much 
account; the British public, little account; women, less account; 
foreigners and the outside world, no account whatever. 

The reporters' gallery contains room for about one-fifth the 
force needed to represent the leading journals of London. I 
heard, on yesterday, the editor and chief proprietor of a leading 
London newspaper complaining that he has been unable to gain 
admission to the House as a spectator during the debates, and 
equally unable to secure a seat for a reporter in the proper 
gallery. 

Each member of the House of Commons has the disposition 
of two seats in the ladies' gallery. As there are some seven hun- 
dred members, it becomes a problem how the fourteen hundred 
seats which they control can be harmonized with the fact that 
the woman's gallery only seats forty people. I believe this is 
done by balloting, or drawing lots, whereby twenty members are 
selected who have the right to give out the seats on a given 
night. 

Upon ordinary nights there is little difficulty in getting in,, 
principally for the reason that nobody cares to go in. A person 
wishing to go in has two methods. One of these is to write to 
the Speaker, who will order the name to be entered on a list. 
The individual then goes to the corridor and waits till his name 
is called, which will be in the order in which he has been 
entered. The other is to get a member's order, and then go and 
stand in line. If he be at the head of the line, the visitor will 
get a seat in the strangers' galleiy. When the gallery is filled, 
the line waits; and as visitors leave the gallery, others at the 
head of the line are admitted. 

It is often the case that a man may go a dozen times, and after 
standing about and waiting for hours, will be unable to get in. ' 
A peer's order will admit one to the strangers' gallery in the 
House of Lords, under the same circumstances as in the case 
of the House of Commons — ^that is to say, by waiting in line,, 
and passing in if there be room. 

During the late debates on the vote of credit, there have been 
a thousand applicants to each one who has succeeded in getting- 
within the charmed precincts. Nearly all the admissions have 



190 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

been, a matter of favoritism, having no reference whatever to the 
actual merits of the applicants. The members take in their 
friends and seat them, and thus fill the galleries long before the 
hohr whea the general public is admitted. For this reason a 
Speaker's or member's order has been of no more value than is 
a Confederate bank-note. It was only after infinite labor that I 
succeeded in getting in. The same amount of intriguing, figur- 
ing, wheedling, threatening, coaxing, labor, and perspiration, if 
expended by any chimnej'-sweep in the United States, would 
make him President of the Republic. , 

The second day of the debates, I had returned to the American 
Exchange utterly disheartened, having vainly attempted every 
available means to secure admission to the debates of the coming 
evening. I was indulging in a quiet but very heartfelt " swear," 
when there entered the Paris representative of a leading Ameri- 
can newspaper, T?ie , a paper with more " cheek " than all 

the other newspapers in the world. 

" Halloo! " said I, "what are you doing over here?" 

" I came over to look after the Parliamentary debates." 

" Ah, indeed ! " 

" Yes. By the way, it's close to four. I must go down to the 
House." 

"Got your pass? " 

" Oh, no ; I don't need any. Ths goes anywhere, you 

know." 

" Oh, yes. I see." 

" Going down ? " 

" No. I have an engagement. Sorry. When shall I see you 
again ? " 

" Well, I shall be at the House till midnight, so I won't see 
you again before to-morrow " 

" Au revoir ! " 

" So long, old fellow! " 

He is a fresh-faced youth, hopeful and enthusiastic. He went 
off with his countenance in a glow and his eyes a-beaming. 

Two hours later I dropped into the American Exchange. 
Writing furiously at a table was my fair-faced friend with the 
beaming eyes. His hat was pulled down over his forehead, his 
teeth were set, his lips compressed, 

" Halloo, old boy! House risen already? " I asked cheerily. 

" House h — 1 ! " he said, as he looked up with a scowl. 



DEPARTMENT OF THE EXTERIOR. 191 

" Why, what's the matter ? Didn't you get in? I thought T'Ae 
could go anywhere." 

" Oh, come, now, tliat's enough of that." 

" Well, what's the trouble, then ? " 

" The trouble is just here : No white man, or one who has any 
business to go in, can gel in. I represent a paper which is read 
by more than a hundred thousand people. I could make famous 
the debate and every man who participates in it. I could make 
their names household words all over America. I can't get in, 
of course. But some retired dry-salter or wealthy costermonger, 
who is actuated by no higher motive than vulgar curiosity and a 
desire to be able to inform his cronies iu some public house that 
he heard the debates — he can get- in and occupy a front seat! 
This is like everything else in this beastly country ! " 

"Just so. Well, what are you going to do about it? " 

" Going back to Paris on the first train. The French people 
have a decent comprehension of things. Such a thing as this 
couldn't happen there." 

He left ; and The , which goes everywhere, you know, will 

have no detailed reports of the great debate on the vote of credit. 

While it has been impossible, except for the few, to get into 
the houses, it has been a matter of no small difficulty to stay 
around on the outside. To keep people out, and to stir them up 
after keeping them out, has appeared to be the main duty, as 
well as the supreme pleasure, of the omnipresent and omnipotent 
policemen. 

The House of Commons assembles at four, and the House of 
Lords at five. At as early as three in the afternoon, crowds begin 
to gather in the vicinity of the Parliament buildings. The 
principal entrance for the House of Commons leads through 
" Westminster Hall," which is simply an immense space, with a 
stone pavement, and arched over at a lofty height. Into this hall 
anybody can enter ; and here, an hour before the time of meeting, 
there come hundreds of people, who are ranged on one side of 
the hall, so as to leave about half of it clear. Here, four or five 
deep, and extending the entire length of the hall, stands a dense 
mob of both sexes, waiting with craned necks and bated breath 
to see the members pass. As nearly all of this waiting crowd are 
strangers, they have no means of knowing who are members and 
who are not. In front of them, along the cleared space, pass 
members, messengers, and anybody who has the cheek to look as 



192 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA, 

if he were somebody. This mixture malies it inconvenient for 
the spectators. They can't tell whether a man who is passing is 
a member or a merchant, and hence they do not know whether to 
cheer and become enthused, or what to do, as each man hurries 
down the open space. 

It is certain that everybody wlio hurries along tries to look as 
if he were at least a Cabinet Minister. He drops his head as 
if from weight of thought, pretends not to notice the crowd as if 
he were pondering some tremendous political problem, and 
strides along as if he were the incarnation of political wisdom 
and responsibility. 

I went down yesterday earlj^ in company with Hatton, the 
novelist, to see the outside show. We took position in the front 
rank in the hall. Policemen moved up and down, keeping the 
crowd in line and making themselves generally a nuisance. My 
friend happened to lean a little forward, when a vigilant 
" Bobby " espied him : 

" Come, now ! Wot a you a doin' there ? Stand back ! " and, 
using his broad shoulder as a sort of trowel, he leveled poor 
Hatton off so that he was on a line with the others. 

" Let's get out o' this ! " said he, in a tone of profound disgust. 
" This all comes of these beastly liberals that you Yankees admire 
so much. Formerly the public was admitted into the corridors 
of the House, but the liberals, d — n 'em, who love the people so 
much in theory and despise them in practice, were the ones who 
turned the people out." 

We went out into the yard, my friend indignant at being run 
over by a " d— n insolent Bobby," I trying to soothe him. He 
stopped a moment to give emphasis to some bit of feeling, when 
another policeman espied us. One can't stop in the yard — like 
poor Joe, one must "move on." 

"Pass away! Pass away!" said this vigilant official. "Pass 
away! or pass into the 'all ! " 

My friend became angrier than ever. 

" ' Pass into the 'all ! ' " he said, with deepest scorn. " ' Pass 
into the 'all, is it?'" he continued, with tremendous emphasis 
on " ^all.''' Then, changing his tone into one of freezing polite- 
ness, he said: " I say, Bobby, my boy, you dropped somethiug."^ 

The policeman looked dubious and inquiring. 

"Yes, you dropped something. 'Pass into the 'aZL' You 
dropped an aitch. ' Pass into the ''all,'' and be blowed to you ! " 



DEPARTMENT OF THE EXTEEIOR. 



193 



The policemuu got mad. 

" Wot a you goin' to make of it! Come, now, you pass away, 
will you ? " and he followed us slowly toward the gates. My 
friend was at a white heat, but he was freezingly polite. 

" Never mind, Bobby ! ' Pass into the 'a-a-all! ' You did dvop 
something, Bobby! But never mind! You just go into the 
House, and you'll find the floor covered with aiiches dropped by 
the members. You can find there twice as many as you've lost 
here. ' Pass into the 'a-a-all! ' " 




"pass into the 'all." 

We were now through the gates, and the policeman had reached 
the end of his chain. He glared wildly at my friend, and re- 
traced his steps. \ 

" If you were to chaff a Chicago policeman that way," said I, 
"he would take his club and hammer you on the top of your 
head until he had driven the most of you down into your boots." 

" Oh, d — n 'em, they daren't touch you here." 

As just seen, about all there is in waiting to see the members 
13 



194 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

go in, is not to see any members, and be ordered about by police- 
men. At the peer's entrance, a small crowd usually collects at 
five to cheer Beaconsfield as he enters. His portraits have made 
him so vpell knovpn tliat he is alvFays at once recognized, and is 
always the recipient of much complimentary attention. 



LETTER XXX. 

PROMINENT MEN. 

London, February 7, 1878. 

JT N my last* I promised some sketches of the men who have 
jjr been prominent in the great parliamentary debate on the 
motion for a vote of credit. Pre-eminent among these are 
the Earl of Beaconsfield and William E. Gladstone. I am sorry 
now that I have already done up the former, for the reason 
that a description of these two great leaders would go so well 
together. Brought out in this way, one could avail one's self of 
the contrasts of their character, and thereby advance the effect 
of the whole. To some extent, however, I may, without repeti- 
tion, bring into view some of the points of more glaring dis- 
similarity. 

The best time to take Gladstone is as he appeared last Monday 
night on the occasion of his great speech in favor of the amend- 
ment to the motion for a vote of credit. It was known that he 
was to speak, and, as a consequence, every available seat in the 
House was taken. The opposition benches were all occupied; 
the Peers' gallery was filled to overflowing with members of the 
House of Lords, and other distinguished guests, among whom 
were the Prince and Princess of Wales, Princes Leopold and 
Christian, and the Crown Prince of Austria. The ladies' gallery 
was dimly seen through its grating to be a brilliant jam. In fine, 
scarcely ever was there assembled in the House a more distin- 
guished auditory, as to wealth, title and intellect, than the one 
which gathered to hear Mr. Gladstone. Thousands vainly sought 
admittance ; the corridors were densely packed, and a great mul- 

* Omitted. 



PJROMINEKT MEN. 195 

titude stood beneath the century-old arches of Westminster Hall, 
and waited for hours before and after tlie time of- opening with 
the frail hope of seeing some distinguished members pass in, or 
out, or of hearing some fragmentary eclioes of the debate. 

There was some preliminary business transacted amidst an 
impatient buzz and general inattention. Finally the question of 
the evening was reached, when instantly a great hush fell upon 
the audience and was immediately followed by a tremendous 
burst of cheers from the liberal side of the House, as Mr. Glad- 
stone rose to his feet, on the Speaker's left, and stepped forward 
to a table, removed his hat, arranged a mass of manuscript on a 
pile of books, and placed some water and his hat immediately in 
front of him. He was as cool and' deliberate as if in his own 
study alone and there were not about him the most brilliant and 
critical audience that could be assembled in Great Britain. 

He began in a low, distinct, musical voice that contrasted 
almost painfully with the profound silence that fell upon the 
assembly as he commenced his remarks. His intonations were 
gentle; his tone almost pleading; his bearing was winning, 
pacific. Evidently his rdle was that of peace. But a day or two 
before he had made a most tremendous onslaught upon the gov- 
ernment and its leader ; but now he had come with " healing on 
his wings," and his voice was as sweet and his manner as gentle 
as those of a woman at the bedside of a sick child. 

The audience saw before them a slender man, of medium 
height, in age close upon the sixties. His head is large, well- 
balanced on his shoulders, with thin gray hair, and bald in the 
regions of intellectuality. His complexion is almost ashen in 
hue ; his face is covered with deep lines as if furrowed by thought; 
, his expression is benignant and toned with a touch of sadness. 
His nose is prominent, giving a massive strength to the face; his 
eyes are brown, piercing, full of fire, which is somewhat hidden 
by the partly-closed lids, and which has the efiect of making 
him seem as if he wished to reveal nothing, while comprehend- 
ing, seeing everything. 

Such was the man as he appeared then ; as he stood erect, easy, 
and poured forth a torrent of words which, however swift it 
came, was never other than clear as crystal. 

As his speech progressed, his voice, without losing its sweet- 
ness, became more penetrating, full, sonorous. His tones are 
powerful, of a grave quality, luxurious, and smooth and flexible 



196 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

as those of a singer. His words seem impassioned, and this seem- 
ing is increased, by way of contrast, by the repose of his manner. 
His gestures are few, simple, scarcely ever full length ; his body 
emphasizes a sentiment with an easy forward motion, but is 
never rocked or shaken, however passionate the utterance. So 
pronounced was his repose, so sustained his equipoise, that 
neither the enthusiastic cheers of his adherents nor the laughter 
and ironical applause of his opponents produced a waver in the 
level line of his movement. 

But interruptions were not frequent. There were long stretches 
in his progress— flights full of graceful beauty which his sympa- 
thizers watched with entranced interest, and scarcely breathed 
lest they might dispel, or injure, the charm of his wonderful 
movements. 

He spoke for three hours, and wound up with a peroration so 
magnificent that not a whisper impeded its course as its rich 
volume streamed away over the crowded benches, and up among 
the galleries, where men sat in dumb admiration, and not con- 
scious that hours had passed since he had risen to his feet. He 
resumed his seat; there was a moment or more of profound 
silence, as if men were slowly dragging themselves back to the 
dull realities of the present, and then from the opposition benches 
there rose a storm of applause that broke in wave-like succession 
against the distant galleries and lofty roof— applause thunderous 
in volume and seemingly endless in its continuation. 

Thus ended what has been, thus far, the great speech of the 
session. It is one which is perhaps second to no other delivered 
by the leader of the opposition. It was an effort full of vehe- 
mence without gush ; one sustained from exordium to peroration 
without a break or waver; one that from source to termination 
flowed on smoothly yet impetuously, always musical, always full 
of unlimited power. 

As a speaker, there is more warmth in Gladstone than in Dis- 
raeli. The latter is an intellectual product, the former more an 
eiJiotional one. Each in his role has no superior. They are 
rivals in politics, but not in mental qualities, any more than are 
a great astronomer and a great geologist. 

The Right Hon. Gathorne Hardy, Secretary of State for War, 
never presented a better opportunity for a portrait than as he 
appeared when he applied himself to answering the speech of 
Mr. Gladstone. He rose to his feet, and evidently was angry. 



PROMINENT MEN. 197 

The olive branch proffered by Gladstone was wholly unexpected. 
It had been thought that the ex-Premier would follow the line of 
his vituperative Oxford speech ; and to meet this kind of attack 
the government had prepared themselves. But in place of an 
assault delivered, as expected, Gladstone had come tbe bearer of 
a white flag, and had sweetly deprecated war and bloodshed, and 
had proposed that the besieged government, in place of fighting, 
should surrender. 

It may easily be imagined that the government forces were 
angry. They were burning to avenge the Oxford affair. They 
had an overwhelming superiority of numbers ; they liad calcu- 
lated that Gladstone would attack; they had massed their troops 
and batteries to meet the assault; and they confidently and jubi- 
lantly expected to annihilate the assaulting columns. There was 
no attack. Their arrangements were all useless. The gunners 
dropped the lanyards, the waiting infantry took their fingers 
from the triggers. As a consequence of the change of tactics on 
the part of Gladstone, all the speeches of the government — all 
carefully prepared to meet something, which something did not 
occur — were rendered useless. I have thought that it was for 
this very purpose that the wily Gladstone took the position of 
conciliation. 

One sure result of such a course was to thoroughly test the 
readiness of the government to adapt themselves suddenly to a 
new and wholly unexpected situation. Fancy a man down for a 
response to the toast, " The Ladies,'' who goes to the banquet-hall 
with his speech in his brain, and his coat-tail pocket; and who, 
when the toasts are read, finds himself suddenly and without a 
moment's warning, called on to respond to " The President of 
the United States." In such a case one can gain a faint reflec- 
tion of the condition of Hardy. His toast was " War." He 
had crammed for it, and had his response at his tongue's end. 
In the twinkling of an eye he found himself on his feet to respond 
to " Peace." His speech was waste paper. 

It is only a man of great genius who can adapt himself to new 
and unexpected situations. Hardy proved himself a great genius. 
His reply could not have been better — I doubt that it would have 
been as good — had he had months for its preparation. 

"When the Secretary of State for War came to his feet, there was 
a buzz of excitement and anticipation all over the densely-packed 
house. It was a giant who rose to the right of the Speaker — a 



198 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

giant in nis commanding stature, bis great breadtli of shoulders 
his deep chest, his colossal legs. He seems the product of the 
soil — one of those mighty specimens grown far from the enervat- 
ing atmosphere and dwarfing influences of city life. His head is 
large, hair gray, complexion florid, eyes brown and clear, nose 
rather fleshy and sensuous, features prominent, mouth large, with 
lips indicative of strength. His expression is frank, open, kindly, 
with a slight suggestion of bulkiness and weight. 

I am told that, as a general thing, he is quiet and undemon- 
strative. But now he was in a rage. The great Vesuvius that 
suddenly rose before the audience was smoking at every pore and 
crevice; its crater was choked with the upheaval of molten lava 
and ruddy flames; and the whole mountain quaked with the 
detonations of passion. 

Hardy was mad. There was no doubt about it. 

There was a very perceptible efi'ort at the start to hold him in. 
He seemed like a horse about to run away, and who commences- 
operations by vicious tossings of the head, switches of the tail, 
and short, furious plunges against the bit. He is too powerful 
an animal to be restrained when he makes up his mind to get 
away. This was speedily seen, and he was let go. There was a 
great jump or two, and, then, with bit between his teeth, his ears 
laid well back, eyes aflame and nostrils snorting thunder, away 
he went ! 

He commenced his remarks in a broken voice, as if its flow 
were choked by passion. He stuttered, hesitated, drawled, but 
soon began to move without stumbling. His full, deep voice 
became deeper and resounding. It grew stridente and stentorian, 
and rang through the hall like the blare of a trumpet. He be- 
came grand, inflamed, inspired— this stalwart man upon whose 
broad shoulders rests the weight of over sixty winters and majjes- 
no impression. 

His action and sentiments were a cumulative succession of 
shocks like those from a battering-ram, which grow heavier and 
more destructive at every impact. He did not move evenly, but 
rose from the ground in great leaps. He " went for that heathen 
Chinee," Gladstone. Taunts, sneers, sarcasm, invective, were 
flung from him in showers. He was appealing, he was denun- 
ciatory, he was ironical. He shook the ex-Premier as a mastiff 
would a lady's pug. 

All this time it was evident that he is no cultured orator. Oc- 



PROMINENT MEN. 199 

casionally he would drop into his normai condition, when it 
would be seen that he is as simple and unpretentious as he is 
strong and massive. Then his gestures are short, few, and un- 
studied. Then he is modest, unassuming, and suggestive of 
latent power. But these lulls in the storm were few and short. 
He would suddenly start from them, and his attitude would be- 
come bold, defiant, aggressive. His gestures, voice, intonations 
would become vehement and demonstrative. Inspired by the 
furious applause of his sympathizers, he became, at times, full 
of inspired savagery, of fierce, irresistible insolence. 

Such was Gathorne Hardy on the occasion of his reply to Mr. 
Gladstone. It was the combat of a muscular, earnest, furious 
gladiator, armed with ponderous sword and buckler, witli a 
light-armed master of modern fence. Skill was of no use to the 
latter. There was no parrying the tremendous descent of the 
heavy weapon of the other. Agility could enable him to avoid 
mortal hurt; but when the issue is narrowed to the sword of one 
combatant and the nimble heels of the other there is no difficulty 
in reaching a conclusion as to which is the victor. 

Passing from the tempestuous Hardy to Bright, is like leaving 
a foaming and howling sea and suddenly passing into some quiet 
haven, where all is calm, where the shores are green with foliage 
and the idle winds scarcely lift the languid leaves. Bright did 
not appear on Monday night. He came out earlier in the debate. 
He was a summer day — bright, breezy and perfumed— that pre. 
ceded the one of the tempest. 

Among all the great men in the English House of Commons, 
John Bright is a conspicuous figure, both in intellect and appear- 
ance. His square, stoutish form, florid complexion, and wliite 
hair, render liim a noticeable object. As one studies him he 
grows in attractiveness. His massive, leonine head is crowned 
with a wealth of wavy, silvery hair, which is thrown back from 
an expanded forehead, giving a noble effect to his intellectual 
developments. His face is square, without there being especial 
prominence in any feature, while the whole is radiant with a 
kindly and benignant light. His mouth is rather large and full 
of eloquent sensitiveness. As he is seen with his genial smile, 
his gentle expression, his venerable head, he seems the imper- 
sonation of a sympathetic benevolence. 

When he rises .to sjjeak, he commands universal respect and 
attention. He wins, through his gentleness, his sincerity, his 



200 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

warmth. Everybody knows that while he has the floor, there 
will no slashing, no wounding, and that his effort will be to heal 
dissensions, to restore peace. His voice is a rich baritone, and 
as musical as a bell. He is quiet but earnest. Not only are his 
thoughts powerful in their logic, but in their profound sincerity. 
All who hear him feel at once that it is not a politician or parti- 
san who speaks, but an Englishman who has risen above party, 
and who speaks only from a party standpoint because the ma- 
chinery of organization is of value in giving effect to his con- 
victions. 

He is the peer of Gladstone in the possession of all the graces 
of oratory, with the difference that Gladstone is tlie result of 
labor, while Bright is a product of nature. He is not the finished 
result of a school. He differs from the ex-Premier as a fragrant 
tuberose with its exquisite tracings and perfume, differs from a 
finished statue. Both are complete in their way, and yet their 
completeness is antipodean in its dissimilarity. All his attitudes 
are strong and graceful, his gestures easy and flowing; and his 
utterances distinct, smooth ; the quality of his tones sweet and 
impressive. He can be poetical ; he is often intensely humorous ; 
he is occasionally bitter, but never to an extent that pains, or 
which has for its purpose other than the conviction — not irrita- 
tion — of an opponent. Upon the whole, there are perhaps few 
speakers in Great Britain who can command a larger or more 
intelligent auditory than can the Rt. Hon. John Bright, the 
shrewd, unaffected, universally-respected member from Bir- 
mingham. 

I have hitherto spoken only of Commoners. A Peer is neces- 
sary to give tone to this article and to render it to some extent 
representative of the Parliament from which these characters are 
selected. 

The Duke of Argyle is a member of the liberal party. He has 
an ancestry that reaches unbroken in its flow of the bluest of 
blue blood to the period — for aught that I know to the mists — 
surrounding the life of pre-historic man. His wealth is so great, 
his estates so numerous, his bank credit so large, and his rent roll 
so long, that I dare not attempt to detail them. He is the father 
of the Marquis of Lome, the father-in-law of a princess, and, 
hence, after a fashion, the brother-in-law of the Queen. From 
his manner and bearing, I have no doubt that he believes all the 
honor coming from the connection is conferred on the Queen and 



PROMINENT MEN. 201 

not at all lapon himself. When I have added that he is a shrewd 
business man, and has one son in trade, I have said all that is 
necessary to say of him outside his character and appearance as 
a member of Parliament. 

Fancy a man of some fifty-five years of age, of medium height, 
light complexion, partially bald, with light, long hair. His head 
is rather a fine one, his forehead broad and open; but there is 
such an extraordinary development in the region of the organs 
of self-esteem that the back part of the head is overweiglited, 
throwing it back so that his face, in place of being perpendicular 
to the horizon, is turned up till it fronts the sky. This gives him 
a most pompous, not to say ridiculous, appearance. His face is 
a modified Scotch one, with light, crafty, blue-gray eyes, medium 
mouth, with thin, nervous lips. His expression is a combination 
of the intellectual and the effeminate, with suggestions of Scotch 
shrewdness and cunning. 

As an orator, he is far from ranking with Gladstone and Bright. 
His voice is pitched high, his manners are fussy, pompous, vapid, 
conceited ; his demeanor is didactic, forced, demonstrative, and 
pervaded with a thorough consciousness that he is " Sir Oracle," 
and that when he speaks " no dog should ope his mouth." He is 
unquestionably a man of good intellect and great force; but his 
pompous egotism, as exhibited in his deference to himself and 
his confidence in his own opinions, makes him anything but a 
pleasant speaker. 

I am sorry that I can't give you a better specimen of a peer in 
this letter. In my next I hope to hunt down a more creditable 
article. The parliamentary preserves are not exhausted, and my 
next consignment may contain a specimen from the Lords' side 
of the House which will be worth the trouble of examination. 



202 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER XXXII. 

PARLIAMENTARY NOTABILITIES. 

London, February 12, 1878. 

flN my last I gave some outline sketches of Parliamentary 
r notabilities. As the list was not entirely exhausted I add a 
^ few more, the first of which shall be that of Sir Stafford 
Northcote, the well-known Chancellor of the Exchequer, This 
gentleman, at least in his seat in the House of Commons, is the 
hardest worked member of the cabinet. To him is directed a 
majority of the questions having reference to the foreign policy 
of the government. Either to answer questions, or in speaking 
in defense of the policy of the government, he has been before 
the House oftener than any other man, and has had much more 
to say during the pendency of the debate on the vote of credit. 

Ordinarily, Northcote is not only not a good speaker, but he is 
positively a bad one. In this respect I refer more especially to 
his manner, and not his ideas. In speaking in response to an 
interrogation, he is slow, awkward, hesitating. His worst defect, 
at such times, is his employment of the drawl — aw — aw — so much 
in use by English speakers. 

Apropos of this peculiarity, and which by many English 
speakers is considered a graceful piece of ornamentation, I have 
been told that it originated with Lord Palmerston when leader 
of a party in the House. He had a ticklish task to perform, the 
situation being delicate and critical, and his hold upon the mem- 
bers precarious. Never being able to decide in advance what 
shade of policy would suit his fractious following, he was com- 
pelled to conform to the shifting temper of the House. He would 
speak, watching the effect of each word as it fell upon his listen- 
ers, thus constantly feeling his way, always ready to go ahead if 
the signs were favorable, or to tack and go upon some other 
course in case there were indications of dissent. In order that 
he might find how each word was taken before putting out 
another, he introduced a drawl — a series of aws — after a word, 
which gave him time to observe its effect before launching its 
successor. What was thus used originally as a matter of policy, 
has since become an indispensable ornament in the addresses of 
many English speakers. It consists not only in from one to half 



PARLIAMENTARY NOTABILITIES. 203 

a dozen aws between each word, but in stuttering, or tripping 
over tlie first syllable of every third or fourth polysyllable. Thus, 
in the sentence : " G-entlemen, I am determined to conclude, etc.," 
the prevailing style would render it thus : " Crentlemen, aw-aw I 
aw-am aw-aw d' d' d' aw, d' aw, d' determined aw-aw to aw k' k' 
k' k' conclude aw," etc. As said, this atrocious defacement is 
regarded by no small number as a most graceful accompaniment 
to a speech; and especially among clergymen, it is not uncom- 
mon for an entire sermon to be composed to the extent of fifty 
per cent, of awing and stuttering. 

Northcote has this defect under ordinary circumstances. 
When, however, he rises to the dignity of a speech, as was the 
case once or twice during the great debate, he drops this abomi- 
nable appendage, and becomes smooth, fluent and coherent. 
While lacking the cultivated finish of Gladstone, or the natural 
graces of Bright, he is still a fervid, forcible, impressive speaker. 
In appearance he is striking. He has a massive head, whose 
strength is added to by thick masses of light hair, and a heavy, 
full beard, which give him a majestic effect. His hair and beard 
being light, with just a tint of gold, suggest the idea of his being 
enveloped in a mazy aureola. He is above medium size, strongly 
built, without being stout ; and of sufficient dimensions to make 
a striking, if not a commanding, figure when on his feet. He is 
a pure Saxon in appearance. He has blue-gray ej^es of great 
magnetic force, and shapely features. He is, in his peculiar style, 
a very handsome man. As an official, he is considered invalua- 
ble, not especially as leader of parties, but most competent as a 
subordinate. Withal, he is generally liked, and is one of the 
few members of the cabinet who have escaped being made the 
subject of special and venomous attack by the opposition. Fresh 
in face and complexion, always concise in his answers, even-tem- 
pered and thoroughly informed, he seems, in his difficult posi- 
tion, to be exactly the right man in the right place. 

The Earl of Derby, as the head of the foreign office, plays a 
conspicuous role in British politics. He is the son of one of 
England's most sagacious statesmen, and who was one of the 
most brilliant and scholarly men of his age. He translated 
Homer, and, in various ways, demonstrated the possession of 
great intellectual power and marvelous versatility. 

The present Earl of Derby, in his younger days, was a violent 
liberal. At one period, as Lord Stanley, he visited, and traveled 



•204 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

quite extensively in America. He was always very studious, 
mainly, however, in the literature of Blue Books, which pos- 
sessed for him a charm above all others. The veteran, Disraeli, 
was his teacher, and spent many a day at the home of the pres- 
ent earl, inducting him into the mysteries of statecraft. He is a 
pupil who does no discredit to so great a teacher. He knows 
all politics ; and, although lacking the brilliant versatility of 
his famous father, he is certainly the peer, if not the superior of 
the old earl, in this particular study to which he has given his 
life. He is eminently a man of detail, in the broader sense of 
the term. He is almost always right, although in one case, hav- 
ing reference to the extradition difficulty with the United States, 
he did commit a blunder. 

He is tall, rather inclined to stoutness, with a frank, open, 
handsome face. He dresses very plainly, and has a bearing 
which would lead no one into thinking that he is anything but a 
gentleman. During all the bitterness of the late conflict, he has 
escaped all calumnious assault. He is universally recognized as 
a man of great political fairness and unimpeachable honesty, 
and, hence, is universally respected. 

Henry Fawcett is tolerably well known in America, partly 
from his fine ability, and in part because he is blind. He lost 
his sight when nearly twenty-five years of age, from the acci- 
dental dischai'ge of a gun in the hands of his father. He is the 
member from Hackney, and is also professor of political econ- 
omy at Cambridge. 

Prof Fawcett is tall, robust, and about forty-five years of age. 
He has a coarse, heavy voice, and speaks slowly and with few 
gestures. He always speaks directly to the point, and is one who 
brings to bear innumerable facts and strong logic upon the sub- 
ject under discussion. 

In politics, he is an advanced liberal, or radical, who occupies 
a seat near the " gangway." The " gangway " is an aisle which 
divides into two equal parts the seats of the members. Above 
the "gangway" and nearest the Speaker, sit the leaders of the 
two parties and the older and more reliable members. Below 
the " gangway " are the younger men, the rank and file, who do 
the most of the yelling and applause. Fawcett, while below the 
^' gangway," sits near it, which indicates that he is superior in 
judgment and wisdom to those who, while also below the " gang- 
way," are seated further from it. An expert, looking over the 



PAKLIAMENTAKY NOTABILITIES. 205 

House, can tell at a glance the estimate a member is held in by 
his party leaders, and also the grade of his politics. Fawcett 
may be ranked as the head of the mob which sits below — that 
is, their superior in judgment and party value. 

J. H. Puleston is a member of the House of Commons from 
Devonport. He is an ardent conservative who emphasizes his 
views by the fervor of his convictions, and his incessant activity 
in the interests of his party. He lived for many years in the 
United States, and was, during all, or a portion of that period, in 
business there; being, I believe, a member of the banking-house 
of Jay Cooke. The fact of his having lived in America has 
given rise to a belief that he is an American by birth; in fact, I 
have frequently seen in the home ' papers allusions to him as an 
American Member of Parliament. This is erroneous. I have 
his own statement as authority for the assertion that he was born 
in Wales, a fact which is further verified by his ability to speak 
Welsh as well as English. 

Having lived in America, Mr. Puleston is regarded as common 
property by all Americans who visit the English metropolis. It 
is to him that they apply for information ; it is he who introduces 
them into the House of Commons or of Lords. It is an excep- 
tional evening when Parliament is not graced by the presence of 
at least a couple of Yankees who are indebted to Mr. Puleston 
for their seats. Such is his attention to Americans that I have 
come to regard him as a sort of representatlve-at-large from the 
United States, although, for constitutional reasons, he consents to 
appear on the records as the member from Devonport. 

He is about forty-five years of age, medium height, and with a 
figure which, without being stout, is well-knit, firm and well 
rounded. He has a finely-shaped head ; dark hair, just becoming 
sprinkled with gray; large, dark-brown, keen eyes; a firm, large, 
good-natured mouth; and an expression at once intellectual, be- 
nevolent, and full of shrewdness and good nature. Unlike the 
majority of his Parliamentary confreres, he does not look like 
an Englishman, but like a cosmopolitan who would seem equally 
to belong to the place, were he in France, the United States, 
Austria, or Great. Britain. 

He is a most indefatigable worker, and a man of versatile 
character. 

" Can Puleston speak well ? " I asked a Londoner, before I had 
heard the member from Devonport. 



206 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" I never heard him speak," was the answer, "but then I know 
he can. I would like to know anything that Puleston can't do, 
and can't do well." 

He is a fluent, forcible speaker, when once warmed up. He 
indulges in little ornamentation, but goes directly to his subject, 
speaking always closely to the point. He is strong, argumenta- 
tive, logical. He never speaks unless he has something to say, 
his forte, or preference, I fancy, being what, in the United States, 
would be termed caucus work. He is wily, shrewd, diplomatic; 
and knows to a certainty whether a speech or a motion, and ex- 
actly what kind of a speech or a motion, will best advance the 
end in view. During all this long and heated debate he has not 
once addressed the House ; but, despite this reticence, I have no 
doubt that his quiet but effective work has done more to swell 
the triumph of the government than any half-dozen of the most 
eloquent of the conservative speeches. Untiring, vigilant, fruit- 
ful in resources, sharpened by travel and experience, he is a most 
capable partisan — a fact, I have reason to believe, which is recog- 
nized by the conservative leaders, and by whom he is regarded 
with unlimited respect and confidence. In fine, he is at once a 
creditable representative of the county of Devon and the United 
States of America. 

Sir William Vernon Harcourt, a member of the liberal party, 
and who represents Oxford, is generally known in America from 
the fact that he is a son-in-law of Motley, the historian. He was 
Solicitor-General under Gladstone, and is a man of marked abil- 
itjr. He is full-faced, stout, almost forty-five years of age, has 
a full beard, and no mustache. As a speaker, he is clear, argu- 
mentative, and impressive. He is easy and fluent, but, like the 
majority, he is quiet and undemonstrative. He probably is in- 
fluenced by the prevailing opinion that oratorical flights, a la 
Burke, are in " bad form." Gathorne Hardy, who has an ungov- 
ernable temper, and some of the Irish members, are about the 
only ones who ever do an}^ howling, or who ever, however heated 
the debate, become excited or impassioned. 

Harcourt stands high with his party and the country. He is , 
very ambitious and aspires to the leadership of the opposition. 
He and Foster were both candidates for the chieftainship, but the 
honors were carried ofl' \>y the Marquis of Hartingdon. He is 
certainly yet to be heard from. 

"Rt. Hon. R, Lowe is, in many respects, one of the most remark- 



PAELIAMENTARY NOTABILITIES. 207 

able men in the House of Commons. He is one of the readiest 
and easiest speakers, the most admirable debater, and brilliant 
man among the hundreds with whom he is associated. Schol- 
arly, gentlemanly, abounding in epigrammatic utterances, cyn- 
ical, sharp, cutting, forcible — he is at once to be admired, feared, 
respected. He is a liberal, and represents the University of Lon- 
don. He is tall, has an imposing figure, is very gray, and com- 
manding in appearance. When he speaks, it is with half-shut 
eyes, as if he were engaged in soliloquizing rather than in ad- 
dressing an auditory. One of his greatest efforts was his speech 
against the queen's title bill, a year or two ago, at which time all 
his tremendous reserves of sarcasm, of irony, of epigrammatic 
cynicism, as well as his magnificent oratorical abilities, were 
brought into full play. He does not speak on all occasions, but 
reserves himself for special topics of more than average interest, 
when he has full demand for all his grand oratorical powers. 

The Marquis of Lome* is a noted member of the House, 
the eldest son of the Duke of Argyle, the husband of Louise the 
daughter of Queen Victoria, and, hence, the son-in-law of roy- 
alty. He has the further distinction of having translated, or 
prepared a new version of, David's psalms ; and also of having a 
popular brand of whisky named after him. He has a boyish face 
and figure, light hair, blue eyes, and a light, clear complexion. 
As a whole, he is prepossessing, without being handsome or con- 
spicuously commanding in intellect. He seems good-natured, 
and looks like a thorough good fellow. He needs to be good- 
natured, because he is mercilessly snubbed by all his royal 
relatives, and is rather hated by his equals who cannot forgive him 
for having carried off so rich a prize as the royal and charming 
Louise. As yet, he has made no mark, but he is said to be stu- 
dious, diligent, and ambitious, and he may, in time, place himself 
politically and intellectually in the position to which he is en- 
titled from his great wealth and ancestry, and his royal connec- 
tions. 

Sir Robert Peel is the member from Tamworth, who has, at 
least, the merit of being the son of a most illustrious sire. He 
has none of the genius or breadth of view of his noted father, 
and is equally lacking in the diligence and mastery of business 
that characterized the elder Peel. He differs from his sire in 
almost every possible respect. The latter was stately, formal, cold, 
*Now Governor-General of Canada. 



208 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

precise. The former is, to put it mildly, eccentric. He speaks 
not often, but then it is always to full and appreciative benches, 
whose occupants, if not convinced and edified by his efforts, are, 
at least, amused. He is racy, rollicking, a " chartered libertine " 
in speech, who says what he pleases, and in what way, and at 
what time, he pleases. He has a certain jerky sort of eloquence, 
which is replete with oddities and humor. Were he to transfer 
himself and his abilities to the United States, and devote his 
time to " stump " efforts in some far-west State, he would achieve 
a most brilliant success. In his present sphere, however, he 
rather reminds one of a clown — a superior clown — in a circus. 

Sir Coutts Lindsay is a member of the Plouse of Commons 
from Wigan. He has thus far played no important part in the 
debate; and I notice him because, from his seat on the opposi- 
tion benches, he is a conspicuous figure. Tall, with a slender, 
erect figure, he has a most aristocratic bearing, which is in keep- 
ing with the pose of his head and his clear-cut features. He is a 
man of fifty-five, with thick, gray hair, and a heavy, gray mus- 
tache. He is unlike the majority of his fellow-members, in his 
having a clear complexion, and in lacking that beefy, stall-fed 
appearance which seems the dominant characteristic of the av- 
erage English legislator. Upon the whole, he is nearly the most 
refined and handsome man in the House. He is a fair speaker, 
impressive, dignified, smiling yet earnest, who does not lose his 
poise or temper from interruptions, and who takes more than a 
superficial view of the subject under discussion. In any case, in 
looks if not in intellectual consequence, he is certainly an inval- 
uable addition to the ranks of the opposition benches. 

In order to touch a majority of the noticeable characters among 
the English legislators, I find I must get along faster, if I am 
to get them all in this letter. The remainder I will, from neces- 
sity, deal with more briefly. 

Sir Henry James, member from Taunton, is one of the first 
lawyers. and best speakers in the House, He is very clear, com- 
pact, eloquent, and gentlemanly. 

Sir "Wilfred Lawson, from Carlisle, is a very eff^ective, witty, 
humorous speaker both in the House and on the platform. He 
has identified himself with the temperance movement, and is an 
ardent advocate of a certain class of proscriptive legislation. 
His bans mots are innumerable. When Major O'Gorman, a bla- 
tant Irish member, was speaking on the bill for closing Irish 



PAELIAMENTAKY NOTABILITIES. 209 

dram-shops during certain hours, he said : " If you pass this 
bill, Ireland will secede from the kingdom, and appeal her case 
to the god of battles!" "He means to say the god of bottles," 
was injected by the witty Lawson. 

Among the young men on the government side who give great 
promise are Lord George Hamilton, from Middlesex, and James 
Lowther, from York. Both are rising young men. Lowther has 
been in the House since he was twenty-one years of age. He is 
a thorough gentleman, a careful, laborious man of business, and 
in speaking, has a plain, straightforward, manly style. 

Lord Elcho, from Haddingtonshire, is a handsome young Irish 
nobleman, who supports the government party. He is a clear, 
rapid, effective speaker, who often rises in the regions of true 
eloquence. 

Major O'Gorman I have already spoken of. It can only be 
added that he is the member from Waterford, and the butt of the 
House. 

A member of the House who would achieve a grand success 
in America is an Irish Presbyterian clergyman and professor — 
Richard Smyth, from Londonderry. He is the author of the 
Sunday-closing bill for Ireland. He has made but few speeches, 
but these, by their breadth, copiousness, and beauty of language, 
force, and graceful delivery, jjlace him in the very front rank of 
the best speakers of the House. 

Joseph Chamberlain, late mayor of Birmingham, has just en- 
tered the House, and gives great promise. The same is true of 
Sir Charles Dilke, of Chelsea. Both are radicals. 

William Henry Foster, from Bridgenorth, is the member who 
moved the amendment to the motion for the vote of credit. He 
is a manufacturer in Lancashire, and is deserving of more space 
than I can give him in this letter. He has visited the United 
States, and is a very capable man, who is especially well posted 
on all educational matters. 
14 




210 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER XXXIII. 

GLADSTONE'S MEETING, ETC. 

London, Feb. 21, 1878. 

GATHERING of Britons for political purposes does not 
differ essentially from one held hy American sovereigns, 
except that, if possible, the former is a good deal more 
turbulent and less intelligent than the latter. The simple differ- 
ence is that the world knows all about the one, and nothing, save 
the creditable features, of the other. 

Admitting that, in the matter of rowdyism both are alike, there 
remains a point in which there is a difference — a difference 
which, so far as my experience goes, is rather in our favor. This 
point has reference to freedom of assemblage and discussion. 
Any people can meet in America, providing their purpose is a 
lawful one. Communists, Orangemen, Fenians, Democrats, Re- 
publicans, all have the right to public assemblages, and are not 
interfered with by law or antagonistic'organizations. The record 
of the last two weeks proves that the same is not true here ; and 
that the law is powerless or unwilling to protect in cases where 
the purpose of the meeting is entirely legitimate. There has not 
been a public meeting held for a month in the interest of the 
peace party which has not been taken possession of, and broken 
up, by the advocates of war. 

The present week it was intended to hold a grand popular 
meeting in the interests of peace. Gladstone was at the bottom 
of it, and he and John Bright were to be the principal speakers. 
Agricultural Hall, one of the largest buildings for public assem- 
blages in London, was engaged, and the night appointed. In 
order to prevent too great a rush, and keep out undesirable 
people, it was determined to admit the public by use of tickets. 

The morning of the day before the one appointed for the 
demonstration, I went over to Agricultural Hall to make some 
inquiries about tickets. It was early in the day, and I found the 
ticketnoffice not yet open. Just then a " sandwich " — that is to 
say, a man with a couple of large posters, one on his back, and 
another on his breast, and both kept smooth by being pasted on 
boards — came up and asked what I was looking for. I suavely 
informed him that I was in search of information and tickets, 
with reference to the Gladstone meeting. 



' . Gladstone's meeting, etc. 211 

*' There ain't goin' to be any meeting! " 

" No meeting ! Why so ? " 

" Cos there ain't. If Gladstone shows his face up here, he'll 
be murdered." 

"Ah, indeed!" • 

" Yes, sir ! An' there ain't any peace men in this neighborhood," 
he continued, and meanwhile glared on me with no friendly eye, 
being under the evident impression that, as I was hunting for 
tickets to a peace meeting, I must be a peace man. "There 
ain't any here," he went on to say, "becos it isn't healthy 
for 'em." 

He began to take his boards off. He was very dirty and ugly, 
splay-footed and bandy-legged. I concluded that if he couldn't 
lick me he could rub off a good deal of dirt on me, and make it 
otherwise unpleasant for me, and so I resorted to diplomacy. 

" Glad of it," I said, although I didn't say what I was glad 
about. " They're a bad lot." I didn't say who was a bad lot, 
although I had in my mind's eye the splay-footed advocate of 
war before me, and who was encrusted with the dirt of a gen- 
eration. 

He was a trifle mollified by my remarks, and began to get him- 
self between his boards. With very cordial thanks on my lips, 
and a very cordial damn in my thoughts, I retreated in rapid and 
fair order. 

Hailing a 'bus for Charing Cross, I climbed up alongside the 
driver. He was an independent-looking chap, with a napless 
hat, much creased and wrinkled, a saucy, turn-up nose, and red 
hair and whiskers. 

A moment after we started we overtook a couple of policemen 
leading between them a jolly chap, who had evidently been mak- 
ing a night of it, and had not yet been to bed. 

" Now, 'e's a good un, isn't 'e ? " said the gentleman with the 
turn-up nose as he gave a jerk of his whip toward the party. 
" 'Asn't 'ad 'is brekfus, 'e 'asn't. Now 'e thinks wen 'e gets to 
the station 'e'll get a steak, but that'll be a mistake on 'is part, 
you know." 

Here was a pun from a London 'bus-driver. I had never read 
of such a thing. I had never heard of one, and my experience 
with this class is pretty extensive. I ventured to respond in 
kind. 

" He'll be grate-ful, anyhow, won't he ? " 



212 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

My man paid not the slightest attention. I was discouraged 
and humiliated. 

" Hover in France," he said, " they does these things hetter." 

" How so ? " 

'" There, you know, they use the gillotin, an' they alius gives a 
man a cold chop." 

"Haw! haw! haw!" I put in my work as heartily as if the 
joke were brand new. 

After I had roared over his joke till I thought he was satisfied 
I understood him, I asked : 

" HoYf about that Gladstone meeting that was to be held up here 
in Islington ? I'm told that they've postponed, or given it up." 

" You're right, they 'ave. An' bloody right they was in doin' 
it, too!" 

" You surprise me! " 

" Come now, coal-ee, pull up there, will you I " (This to the 
driver of a coal wagon which had gotten in the way.) He went 
on : " W. E. is a traitor. I alius was a peace man, but W. E. 
doesn't suit me, 'e doesn't, you know ! 'E'd 'ad a fresh, rosy 
time, 'e would, if 'ed a-come up 'ere! I ain't flush o' money, but 
I wouldn't a-mind five shillin's, I wouldn't, hif they'd been laid 
hout in rotten heggs for W. E.'s benefit in case 'ed showed his- 
self hup 'ere! Hi say, ware you two a-goin'? " (This to a chap 
in front who was leading a very diminutive donkey b}^ the bridle, 
and who had gotten in the way.) "An' Hi wouldn't a-minded five 
shillin's more for flour wich about twenty gentlemen an' friends 
o' mine would 'ave used to w'iten W. E. hup afore we'd a-laid on 
the heggs." 

Just then there came in sight a tall, emaciated, clerical-looking 
individual, in a black suit, and a low-crowned, round-topped hat, 
with a very broad, stiff brim. "We were going toward Charing^ 
Cross, and, of course, as the man was coming toward us, he was 
going directly from Charing Cross. The driver drew up his 
horses to a slow walk, and when the clerical chap was within 
twenty feet of us, my friend touched his hat most respectfully,, 
and said : 

" 'Ere you are, sir ! Ride down, sir ? 'Bus Charin' Cross ! 
Going right down, sir! Only strikly relijus 'bus on this 'ere 
route, sir! We alius gives 'alf our hearnings for the dear little 
'Ottentots!" 

By this time everybody had begun to stare at the clerical per- 



ALL ABOUT LEGS. 213 

son, who dropped his head and quickened his pace, and so 
got by. 

"Who is it?" Tasked. 

" Oh, 'e's some 'i.^h church bloke ! Now, Jarvee, come, now ! " 
(This to the liveried driver of a private equipage, whose wheels 
came near our horse's fore-legs.) " W. E. musn't show himself 
up here, becos we 'ates traitors, and becos when heggs in this 
part o' Luunon is rotten, they're very rotten, you may be sure. 
'JE's a great haxman " 

"A what?" 
, " A great haxman, a goin' about an' choppin' trees." 

" Ah, yes, I remember." 

" Well, wot 'e wants to do, bein' 'e's such a great haxman, is to 
hax 'is hi." 

So much for the right of citizens to assemble to discuss public 
affairs. Mr. Gladstone and his sympathizers won't meet to-night 
at Agricultural Hall. The meeting has been " postponed," which 
means that, owing to threats of terrorism, and rowdyism, its pro- 
meters dare not attempt to hold it. 



LETTER XXXIV. 

ALL ABOUT LEGS. 

London, March 19, 1878. 

KE day last week I was seated on the " knife board " of a 
'bus, on Marylebone road, when my eye was caught by 
an immense picture on a fence — " hoarding " they call it 
This picture was of two men, bare-headed, stripped nearly 
naked, one on a run, and the other on a walk. I thought, for a 
moment, that the man on the walk, who was represented as chas- 
ing the man on the run, might be intended to represent a Briton 
trying to head off a Russian from getting into Constantinople. 
However, some staring letters and figures on the margin of the 
poster dispelled the idea of a race for Stamboul, by informing 
the public that the munificent sum of £750 was to be divided 
among the men who could go furthest in six days. 



214 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

As I read this, the question flashed through my mind, "Where 
is G'Leary, when all this money is lying around loose, and only 
to be walked for?" Twenty minutes later I had reached the 
Strand and forgotten the matter, when just in front of the American 
Exchange I noticed a pair of legs coming along, and which pos- 
sessed very unusual action. They passed each other alternately, 
with great rapidity, and each in turn lifted and put down a square- 
toed shoe with a lightness that was utterly unlike the English 
method of getting a pair of feet along a sidewalk. I followed the 
legs up a slender waist, along a chest well advanced, over a pair 
of shoulders well thrown back, and then, after a short climb up a 
substantial neck, I reached a chin, passed a blonde mustache, 
went around a slightly retrouss^e nos,Q, and halted under a jutting 
forehead, where I found a small, keen, good natured pair of brown 
eyes that were unmistakably the property of Daniel O'Leary, ex- 
book-peddler, ex-postman, and present champion walkist, of Chi- 
cago. I had a presentiment where my journey would end before 
I had entirely traversed the region between his instep and hi& 
knees. 

The O'Leary is of course the two legs and the pair of feet. He 
carries a head along to save the legs the fatigue of thinking, a 
stomach, so that they won't have to be bothered about food and 
digestion, and a pair of hands to save the legs the trouble of 
shaking with every friend whom they may meet. I greeted the 
legs by shaking one of the hands in their employ, and received 
from them, through the medium of the head and mouth, a very 
cordial return. I was glad to see the legs. The legs were glad 
to see me. They had just come from Chicago. The boys over 
there were all well. No, they (the legs) were not very sick com- 
ing across the ocean. They had had a fair passage, had slept 
well, and taken their exercise with regularity. They were in 
splendid condition, thank me. They had come over after the 
prize of £500 and the champion's belt, worth £100 more, which 
were to be the reward of the pair of legs which should, within 
six days, put the most ground behind them. The pair of legs 
with which I was holding converse did n't seem to have any 
doubt that, barring accidents, they would secure that £500 and 
that belt, although they modestly admitted that they would have 
to get up early and retire very late, and keep passing each other 
at a pretty rapid rate, in order to be able to snatch all the plunder 
at the far end of the journey. Then the legs and I, having ex- 



ALL ABOUT LEGS. 215 

changed all the news, went to Charing Cross hotel, and had a 
couple of bitter beers, and then, for a time, we parted. 

Having thus gotten this pair of legs, known as Dan. O'Leary, 
before the public, I will proceed to state more in detail what had 
brought these renowned legs four thousand miles from home — 
from the delightful Garden city to the dingy English metropolis. 

There is a member of Parliament here, whose full title and 
name are Sir John D. Astley, Bart., M. P., and who represents the 
county of Lincoln. Either because he believes legs are superior 
to heads, or that reform will be more effective if directed at the 
former rather than the latter, he conceived the idea of offering a 
substantial reward to the owner of any pair of legs which, in the 
course of a week, could measure off the longest distance. It was 
to be a sort of contest to which any legs, regardless of nation- 
ality, were to be admitted. To encourage all sorts of legs to come 
forward, and for the purpose of keeping them within limits 
when they did come, the following propositions and conditions 
were promulgated : The competition to be open to the world, to 
begin March 18, and extend through the five following days. 
Sweeepstakes to the amount of ten sovereigns ($50) each for all 
comers, and each man, by running or walking, to make the great- 
est distance possible within the six days and nights. The man 
who makes the greatest distance to receive a belt, value £100, and 
£500 in money ; the next best man £100 ; the next £50 ; while any 
man who walks 460 miles will receive back his money and £10 
in addition. Any competitor, except the first three men, who 
goes more than 500 miles, to have £5 for every three miles- over 
500. The surplus receipts, if any, over expenses, to be divided 
among the competitors, or to be employed for other prizes to 
encourage pedestrianism. 

These are the main conditions. There are some other ones, 
such as that all must appear in university costumes ; each com- 
petitor is allowed one attendant; two tracks to be laid down, one 
for Englishmen and one for foreigners ; lavatories, retiring rooms, 
hot and cold water, and a military cooking stove to be provided 
for each of the competitors. When I add that the English track 
is one-seventh of a mile in circumference, and that for the for- 
eigners one-eighth of a mile, I have said all that is necessary at 
present with reference to this portion of the subject. 

The following aspirants for fame, money and the like, contrib- 
uted their ten sovereigns, and were regularly entered: James 



216 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Bailey, of Littingbourue ; H. Browu, (''Blower,") Fulliam; W. 
Corkey, London; Peter Crossland, Sheffield; Joseph Groves, 
Oswestry, Salop ; George Ide, Woolwich ; George Hazael, Lon- 
don; George Johnson, Lancashire; L. R. Johnson, Wrexam; W. 
Lewis, Islington; C. C. Martyn, (amateur,) Bristol; P. M. Carty, 
York; James McLeany, Alexandria; G. Parry, Manchester; J. 
Smith, York; W. Smith, Paisley; Harry Yaughan, Chester; W. 
H. Smythe, Dublin and America; Daniel O'Leary, Chicago; and 
E. P. Weston, New York. Of these twenty entries, all are En- 
glishmen except W. Smith, W. H. Smythe, O'Leary and Weston. 
W. H. Smythe claimed to be an American, but failing to show 
any documents to that effect, and not knowing who was the last 
President of the United States, or who is the present one, or even 
who will be the next one, it was believed that he made the claim 
simply to get on the track constructed for foreigners, and which, 
being less crowded than the other, is more desirable. 

Before the walk began, CrOssland and Weston both flew the 
track on account of illness. In the case of the latter, the " illness " 
is supposed to proceed from a conviction that he could n't win ; 
and in the case of the other, who is a very noted pedestrian, from 
an intention to save his strength and challenge the winner of the 
belt. There then remained eighteen competitors. 

Among the men thus left there are none who have ever distin- 
guislied themselves, except O'Leary, in anything but compara- 
tively short efforts. Several of them have done extraordinary 
things in the speed with which they have run or walked one hun- 
dred miles, or the distance they have made in twenty-four hours. 

In some of the walks heretofore had there has been always 
more or less trouble in regard to the methods adopted by some 
of the competitors. It was in part to do away with this difficulty 
that it was determined in this match to allow every man to get 
over the ground in any style he pleases. But there was another 
reason, and that was, for the purpose of testing the merits of 
walkers and runners for long distances — a something which, so 
far as I know, has never before been attempted. 

The novelty of such a contest, and the noted characters of many 
of those entered, have excited a great amount of attention. Per- 
haps no sporting event in England, except, always, the great 
horse-racing events, has for many years awakened so general an 
interest. Already, although the match is but in its second day, 
the attendance of spectators is numbered by tens of thousands, 



ALL ABOUT LEGS. 217 

while dense crowds surround the bulletin boards of the various 
offices about the city, where there are given hourly records of the 
progress being made by the contestants. 

On Sunday, the pair of legs known as Daniel O'Leary, as was 
proper in a pair of well-regulated legs, went to church. Whether 
or not the discourse had reference to the assertion that the " race 
is not always to the swift," thereby comforting the pair with a 
hint that runners were not to be feared, I do not know. Suffice 
it, that the legs went to church and bent themselves ; and, like 
the knights of old, sought the consolations of religion before 
commencing an arduous enterprise. 

At half an hour past midnight, in company with the precious 
pair of legs, I entered a cab, and was driven to Agricultural hall. 
Late, or early, as it was, a great crowd had collected around the 
private entrance to the hall to see the arrival of the various con- 
testants. The gathering at this hour was remarkable, from the 
fact that the general public was excluded until the next morning. 
From six to eight thousand people thronged the various ap. 
proaches to the hall, and, provided it would have been allowed, 
a majority of them would have gladly secured admittance by 
paying for it. "Wisely, however, it was determined to admit only 
members of the press, and such others whose presence was abso- 
lutely needed. The result was, that the men were gotten off 
without much crowding or difficulty. 

A small tent had been erected for O'Leary just within the track 
devoted to the use of foreigners. Into this the O'Learjj- legs dis- 
appeared as soon as we reached the place, in order to complete 
their toilet. 

At 1 : 15 Monday morning a dense little crowd had gathered in 
front of the judges' stand. A man of some sixty winters, sub- 
stantial as to figure, and gray as to beard and hair, uprose on the 
judges' stand, and made a little speech. It was Sir John D. Ast- 
ley, Bart., M. P., and he told them, in substance, that he had got- 
ten this match up from a genuine love of sport. He would not 
conceal from them, he said, that his eai'nest hope was that an 
Englishman might be the successful man; but his love of fair 
play was such, and that of his hearers was also such, that he 
hoped the best man would win. This generous sentiment was 
received with much clapping of hands, and many bravos and 
"'Ear! 'Ears!" 

Then there was a loud command, " Get ready ! " In a second 



218 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

there was a peeling of surtouts, hats and trousers, and the next 
instant the black mass below came oul white, speckled with col- 
ored breech-cloths, and relieved here and there by other bits of 
color in the shape of sashes, shoulder knots, and tufts of fringe. 
It was quite like a transformation scene in a pantomime, in which 
the tattered beggar suddenly becomes a spangled and beautiful 
fairy. 

The crowd of white figures gathered behind a broad white line 
drawn across the tracks. On the inside track, in virgin white 
from chin to ankle, stood the O'Leary. His left toe touched the 
chalk-mark. His chest was advanced, his body rested on his left 
leg, his elbows were thrown back, and his forearms brought for- 
ward on a horizontal line till they ended in hands clinched around 
a couple of corn-cobs, whose rough surfaces gave him " some- 
thing to feel." He was the handsomest man, the most statuesque 
figure, the most gracefully poised athlete in the group. 

Then somebody thundered " Go ! " and instantly the motionless 
mass of white became alive. It split into large fragments, and 
then these large fragments into smaller ones. Compactness 
merged into difi"usion. Thirty-six legs, carrying one-half that 
number of owners, began to reach forward for the purpose of 
seeing which pair could put the most real estate behind it within 
six days. 

As the word " Go! " was given, the runners instantly separated 
themselves from the mass, and stretched away in advance of the 
athletes. As I looked at these runners, they moved so rapidly that 
for a moment my heart failed me as I thought of the probable 
fate of O'Leary, and the consequent humbling of the city of 
Chicago. One of these runners especially attracted my atten- 
tion. He was a man of some twenty -seven years of age, with, 
a slender, compact figure, a small, round head, and a strongs 
Scotch face. Bending forward, he struck a long, easy trot, and 
seemed to skim the ground, rather than walk. There was ia 
his rounded limbs and trunk something which reminded me of 
the suppleness, compactness and strength of the panther. His 
eyes were fixed on the ground a few feet in front of him, as if he 
was searching for a trail. His movements, his attitude as he ran, 
suggested an animal of prey following the tracks of a deer. 
Round and round he went, never lifting his eyes from the ground 
until he began to appear a remorseless, unflagging, untiring ani- 
mal engaged in hunting down some flying game, whose pursuit 



LEG ATHLETICS. 219 

he never would relinquish till he had overtaken and fastened his 
fangs in the throat of his prey. 

"He looks like a man," said I to a companion, " who is track- 
ing a deer in the mountains, and who proposes to catch his game 
by running it down." 

" That's been his business all his life," said a voice with a 
marked Scotch accent. " He's a deer hunter from the Heelans." 

" How long can he run at that gait ?'' 

"All the week. He never tires." 

" And so, of course, he'll win the belt and first money." 

" De'il a doot o' that," said the Scotch gentleman, quite con- 
temptuously, as if a man were a fool to entertain even a suspicion 
to the contrary. 

When I left the hall five hours later. Smith, of Paisley, the 
Heelan hunter, was still moving along in his easy, unflagging 
trot. His face seemed motionless, his body tireless. 

Last evening, some fifteen hours later, I again visited the hall. 
I looked first of all for my Heelander. He was not running. 
It was only after much scrutiny that 1 discovered, in a gentleman 
who was hobbling along at a painful walk, mopping his inflamed 
face with a handkerchief, and cooling his head and neck with a 
sponge saturated with vinegar and water, my lithe friend of the 
morning start. Evidently, in his case, chasing deer in the Heelans 
is quite different from being dressed in tights and trotting around 
a ring for the purpose of winning a wager. 



LETTER XXXV. 

LEG ATHLETICS. 

London, March 24, 1878. 

JT>j;<AST Monday morning, at the early hour of 1 a. m., a 
^\\iSj gallant transformation scene occurred within the dimly- 
(5=^ lighted vastness of Agricultural Hall. At the word uttered 
by the starter. Sir John Astley, Bart, M. P., some nineteen com- 
mon-place figures, clad in sombre ulsters and dark caps of 
multifarious patterns, were suddenly transformed into white-clad 



220 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

athletes, who, the next momeut, springy as steel, and with energy 
exuding from every face, hounded away like a herd of rested and 
startled deer. 

Six days and nights lacking five hours and some odd minutes, 
a miserable remnant of the same gallant crowd went limping 
and hobbling painfully over the same course. Gone were the 
springiness, the energy, the force. The swift progress had be- 
come a labored crawl; the keen eyes had become fixed and 
staring ; the eager faces cadaverous, emaciated, rigid. 

But it was in the case of the O'Leary legs that, at that hour, on 
last evening, the change was most marked. I watched them as 
they jubilantly commenced their career a week ago. They were 
then elastic. As each of them alternately struck the ground it 
bounded off, as if it had the qualities of India rubber. Each 
then passed the other with a rapidity that seemed born of exhaust- 
less power. Last night the same two gallant legs would not have 
been known by their most intimate friend. One of them had 
become almost twice as large as its fellow. They were covered 
with bruises and permeated with racking pains. They moved as 
if they were the legs of a failing centenarian. They shuffled, 
they limped, they passed each other hesitatingly, as if they were 
afraid that, once parted ever so little, they could never again 
come together. They had become a pair of poor old legs than 
which there seemed none weaker or poorer outside a graveyard. 

What reduced such a pretty pair of legs to such a woful condi- 
tion will be the burden of this simple tale. 

At the close of the letter describing the opening of the match, I 
had gotten the eighteen or nineteen competitors well on their 
way. There may have been but seventeen in all ; in reality, there 
were but two, or, at most, three of them, at least as time passed 
and the week grew old. " Many were called, but few chosen." 

Monday was a sort of holiday, a jolly excursion to nearly all 
the aspiring spirits who were engaged in the match. The 
O'Leary probably knew from bitter experience what was before 
him ; and there may have been one or two older heads who took 
a correct view of the future. Not so the majority. They were 
young and untried. They leaped, they bounded, they cavorted, 
they ran, they waltzed in the exuberance of their joy. Like 
children in play they had little races among themselves. They 
gave out now and then beautiful little bursts of speed, as if they 
could not restrain themselves. 



LEG ATHLETICS. 221 

Walking! It was to them a joy, a recreation, an amusement. 
They were out for a week's holiday and occupied in their favorite 
amusement. A week seemed too short for such a lark. They 
wished it had been for a fortnight, a month, all the year round ! 
A week was not enough of such fun— not enough in which to 
test their endurance. 

The strains from the brasses of the band rang out from the 
lofty balcony and filled the great enclosure with inspiration. The 
few spectators cheered over the antics of these children at play; 
and thus Monday passed, the shadows crept into the hall, and at 
midnight the crowd went away, leaving the competitors to 
solitude and their reflections. 

When daylight visited Islington on Tuesday, it encountered a 
more sober crowd of competitors. One festive youth, Hazael, 
blackguard and drunkard from London town, had concluded to 
withdraw. Walking gave him no opportunity for getting drunk. 
All the day before he had kept alongside of O'Leary, a leer on 
his brutal face, and the assertion, interlarded with many a foul 
oath, constantly on his lips, that he was going " to kill this won- 
derful Yankee before he got through with him." Fifty miles of 
sobriety and O'Leary were enough for him, and he disappeared 
and came no more into view. 

There had come down from Bristol a " gentleman " — as he gave 
out that he was — and entered himself as one of the contestants. 
He had come in his own carriage. He brought with him a 
flunky, who wore a swallow-tailed coat and a white choker, to wait 
on him. He came to show the world that because a man is a 
gentleman he can do anything better than a man whose ancestors 
are not enriched by the spoliation of church property, or some 
means not connected with honest industry. 

Par exemple, on Friday evening, beyond the barricades sur- 
rounding the tracks, was a howling mob ten thousand strong. 
Within the tracks was an open space occupied only by the favored 
few. There were about three hundred of us in this open space. 
We included dukes, earls, barons, baronets, and the like; we were 
the very flower of Great Britain. When the mob was howling 
most tempestuously a naval officer said : 

" There'll be a blooming row here presently." 

" Do you think so ? " 

"I know it!" 

" That will break up the match, won't it ? " 



222 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

"Oh, no! All the people in here (the open space) are gentle- 
men. Everyone of them will fight. We'll drive 'em back vi^itli- 
out any trouble." 

What he meant was that three hundred men, because they were 
gentlemen, could withstand ten thousand others because they, 
were not gentlemen. 

It was in the same spirit that " Martyn," amateur and " gentle- 
man " from Bristol, expected to carry off the honors. He is a 
thin, haughty-looking youth. He went around gingerly so as 
not to be rubbed against by any of the canaille. On Tuesday he 
had reached the extraordinary total of sixty-four miles. As 
O'Leary was now two hundred, and none of the rest had gone 
less than twice as far as he, he gave up in disgust. Calling his 
flunky, he was carefully done up in lavender, placed tenderly in 
his coach, and was driven away. Thenceforward, his thin legs 
and aristocratic lineamants graced the hall no more. 

The choice and buoyant spirits of Monday had tamed down, 
somewhat on Tuesday. W. Smith, the Scotch runner, who, at 
the start, had made such a glorious beginning, was as sober as a 
cart-horse. He ran only at long intervals. Walking seemed sud- 
denly to become full of charms. He mostly walked. All the 
others were less antic. There were fewer "spurts." The jolly 
and friendly little races began to diminish in number. A more 
serious expression began to come over their faces. A spectator 
would conclude that the picnic and holiday idea was beginning 
to evanish. 

Tuesday rolled away. Tuesday night followed suit, and Wed- 
nesday took possession of the building. 

Wednesday was not notable except as rather intensifying the 
occurrences of its predecessor. S. R. Johnson concluded that it 
wasn't a good day for walking, and he quit after a little prome- 
nade of eleven miles. Exactly the same number satisfied M'Leavy, 
an ambitious young Scotchman, and a runner who has an extra- 
ordinary record. James Bailey thought the matter over and 
concluded that seven miles was a fair day's work. W. Smith, the 
Heeland laddie, was more modest. He looked the thing over 
and thought one mile would do for Wednesday. Several others 
made substantial reductions in their speed, concluding probably 
that as it was near the middle of the week, it was a good day for 
a rest — a sort of a half-way house, where they would stop for a 
bait and a little needed recuperation. 



LEG ATHLETICS. 223 

Wednesday not only began to tell who couldn't walk, but. what 
was of equal importance, who could. In the van of the latter 
was, of course, the " Chicago representative," as the London 
papers have generally termed him. It required no sagacity to 
conclude that he could walk. His firm, equal stride, the angular 
movements of his arms, the steady, motionless poise of his trunk 
gave him the appearance of a machine which moved without 
effort, or without fatigue. It was no experiment as to whether or 
not he could walk ; but it was one in the case of the others. 

It was on Wednesday that it became manifest that Chicago had 
rivals. One of these was a tall, slender-waisted, broad-shouldered 
man, with a small head, high cheek bones, small, keen blue eyes, 
an aquiline nose and a itaiv of tremendously-long legs. He first 
began to attract attention by his erect bearing and his slashing 
gait. He measured off the miles as if it were a pastime. He 
easily went eight laps to O'Leary's seven; but he was so tall that 
nobody thought much of him, except that he was a swift, easy 
walker, and that owing to his length of back he couldn't last. 
This was Vaughan who thus began to attract some attention. 

It was about the same time that strangers began to notice and 
assign individuality to a queer little figure, not much more than 
five feet four inches high, with a bullet-head, and an unmistak- 
able Irish " mug," well browned by exposure He came into pro- 
minence bj'- his queer style of locomotion. Sometimes he walked, 
occasionally he ran, but his usual method of progression was to 
get to the rear of the most rapid walker and follow him at a nice 
little trot. Somebody said the little chap was Brown—" Blower" 
Brown. Reference to " Blower's " score showed that he had run 
trotted and walked one hundred miles the first day, eighty-eight 
the second, and that his dog-trot was bringing him close to the 
eighties toward the close of the third day. He looked so com- 
pact, and tough, and smiling, that he gradually ceased to be an 
indistinguishable unit of the mass, and secured a personality as 
" Blower " Brown, and one whose trot and record thus far in the 
match began to suggest him as a winner. 

Wednesday was a fruitful day in individualities, for it also 
brought out Corkey. Everybody had seen a little old chap about 
five feet high, and with legs a trifie larger than ramrods, gallop- 
ing around the track ; but he was so old, and thin, and withered, 
that nobody paid any attention to him, except to wonder, What 
the d — is he here for ? But he galloped on so untiringly that we 



22i SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

began, out of mere idle curiosity, to hunt up his score. Amazing f 
Corkey, Monday, one hundred and thirteen miles, and next to 
O'Leary! Corkey, Tuesday, seventy-six miles! Corkey, Wed- 
nesday, still going like a runaway pony ! Corkey at once went 
to the front in our esteem, and was classed as a possible winner. 

Some others came out of the mass on Wednesday, but it was 
for some other quality than speed. We learned to know " Smythe, 
of Dublin and America," but Smythe, of Dublin and America^ 
seemed a most pretentious ass, who was ambling around prin- 
cipally to show his points. Lewis took shape because he is 
young, long in legs, swift in action, and because of his immense 
and evident appreciation of the gait of one Lewis. Others also 
became identified, but for trivial reasons, and so I let them 
pass. 

Just after daylight Thursday, our worthy Chicago representa- 
tive, a little tired of walking all by himself, flew the track, and 
went over into the tent of a competitor to have a chat. Talking 
is dry work you know; Britons are hospitable, and a nice bottle 
of port wine was brought out for the beneflt of our representa- 
tive. He talked the situation over, drank a quart or so of heavy 
port, and then went to his work. Ah, me! but there was wailing 
and gnasliing of teeth among Daniel's backers and well-wishers- 
when, an hour later, they came on the ground and found their 
favorite doing about two miles an hour, and not exactly certain 
in his own mind whether he was going ahead, or circle fashion, 
or moving on his head or his feet. A quart of heavy port in an 
empty stomach is not a good thing to travel on. It was some 
hours before the port evaporated, and the gentleman from West 
Chicago began to put the miles behind him with his usual ease 
and rapidity. 

Thursday was not an eventful day. Bailey did two miles and 
retired to recover from the tremendous exertion. S. R. Johnson 
and Gregory concluded that it was a good day to lie off, and get 
ready for Friday and Saturday. Poor little Corkey went twenty- 
one miles, and having some scruples about further exercise, he 
retired. Only Brown, Vaughan and O'Leary remained to keep 
up the reputation of the contestants. Brown thought he ! ad 
done a good day's work when he had trotted sixtj'-eight miles, 
and then he was put in his little bed. Vaughan, with the tre- 
mendous stride, encouraged by O'Leary's dalliance with the 
port, let himself out for a walk. He was eighteen miles behind 



LEG ATHLETICS. 225 

O'Leary when he commenced. He made ninety miles and re- 
duced the distance by fourteen miles. 

Friday morning at 3 o'clock the two principal men came on 
the track. It was the most painful spectacle of the kind I ever 
witnessed. Vaughan hobbled on as if every portion of his body 
were raw, bruised, or blistered. He was half an hour getting 
once around the track. It was almost as bad with O'Leary. It 
was pitiable, brutal beyond exiDression. Each of them had walked 
twenty-one of each twenty-four hours since the start. During 
these three-hour rests not more than two hours could be given to 
sleep, as some time had to be given to treatment of their bruises 
and stiifened limbs. 

But by and by the painful hobble was moderated into a slow 
limp. Little by little the limp disajipeared, and the two moved 
on — ^the one with his long, swinging gait, the other with the 
precision and force of a small, compact steam engine. 

The contest was now seen to be over except as between Brown, 
O'Leary and Vaughan. Corkey's tongue had so swollen that he 
could not swallow. All the otliers were miles in the rear. They 
came on, went off, moved along, "spurted," ran, walked, but 
nobody gave them any attention. All eyes were centered on the 
three athletes who led the score. For them the crowd howled, 
cheered and surged about the vast spaces beyond the barricades. 

It was a tremendous contest. Hour after hour Vaughan, with 
Brown trotting close to his heels, made eight miles to O'Leary 
seyen ; but then he would be forced to leave the track for short 
rests. O'Learjr never left the orbit in which he revolved. Around 
and around he went, lap after lap, mile after mile, hour after 
hour, never increasing, never slackening his gait. Vaughan's 
desperate efforts were useless. O'Leary steadily gained on him 
till the gap had increased to the twenties. The steady, untiring 
gait that never wavered was the one that told. Vaughan " spurted " 
desperately and gallantly toward midnight, but when at 12 o'clock 
O'Leary left the track, the score was eighteen miles in favor of 
the Chicagoan. 

From midnight till a couple or three hours later, the contest- 
ants slept and rested as they could, and then went on the track 
for the closing day. 

It seems to me that all England, Scotland and Ireland had 
determined to witness the close of the contest. Great delegations 
from across the Irish sea and from the frozen north were on 
15 



226 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

hand, and began to throng the building as early as 6 o'clock on 
Saturday morning. 

London was excited from Bow Common to Kensal Green. All 
Friday night crowds remained around the building to gain the 
earliest news. It had gotten out that one of O'Leary's legs was 
swelling. The evening papers had called attention to it, and the 
morning papers made it a matter of elaborate comment and 
speculation. 

If that leg should keep on swelling, O'Leary must break "down 
and Vaughan must win ! 

Two more pitiable objects than O'Leary and Vaughan in the 
dull light of Saturday morning were never visible in life. The 
right leg of the former was swollen till it was oiie-third larger 
than the other. His feet were bad, and every step he took was tor- 
ture. The skin across his forehead was a ghastly yellow. His right 
shoulder had sunk until it was two inches lower than the other. 

Vaughan was even worse in appearance. His eyes had sunk 
in his head until the sockets had become great caverns. The 
skin on his face had shrunk until it seemed as if the cheek bones 
were cutting through. His complexion was also a ghastly yellow. 
His lips were drawn back, were white, thin, and full of suffering. 
Two of the nails of his feet had been worn completely off". The 
surfaces of his feet were raw and bleeding. A furious diarrhetic 
disability seized upon him, and endeavored to drag him down. 

It was in such condition that these two men started at 3 o'clock 
Saturday morning— the one to keep open, the other to close *the 
gap of eighteen miles which separated them. It was the work 
of hours for them to get their stiff'ened limbs into play, and the 
raw of their feet hardened to a modified insensibility. 

Very early the spectators began to assemble. Long before 
nightfall they were crowded a score deep behind the barricade 
around the tracks. The surrounding galleries were jammed as 
they never had been before. Below the galleries, tiers of ascend- 
ing seats had been placed ; and soon the white background was 
hidden by a dense mass of humanity in black. The central space 
was well filled, and among those there gathered were scores of 
aristocrats of every grade, from prince to baro ets. Ladies came, 
too, in shoals. There were peeresses in the central space, wealthy 
commoners in the raised seats, and the wives and sweethearts 
of the shilling mob who howled and pressed against the barri- 
cades. 



LEG ATHLETICS. 227 

ITear O'Leary's tent, the galleries and floor were thronged with 
O'Leary's supporters. The three-shilling seats favored Vaughan. 
The crowd in the central space, as was becoming people of gentle 
birth and breeding — we who were dukes, viscounts, barons, and 
the like — applauded both men equally, not esteeming it " good 
form " to show ourselves as partisans. 

By dark, from sixteen thousand to twenty thousand people 
had swarmed into the hall, and were taking in the spectacle with 
as much interest as if the competitors had been their own 
brothers, engaged in walking for money advanced by them- 
selves. 

The bands played alternately, the crowd surged and roared, 
and meanwhile two men moved around the track. There were 
others, but people saw only these two. One was O'Leary, limp- 
ing painfully, moving as if every step drove a hot needle into 
the marrow of his legs; but always moving. The other was 
Vaughan, swinging along with his slashing stride, running the 
corners, and going a third faster than his competitor. But some- 
how, it was all useless. He had to stop often ; and run as hard, 
or gain as much as he would, the slow but haltless pace of the 
Chicago champion kept the gap open to its full extent. Vaughan 
would stride along, shortening the gap a couple of miles, but 
then he was compelled to stop, and when he would come out 
again his limping antagonist would have obliterated all he had 
gained. 

About 3 o'clock a great roar went up from the crowd, as the 
figures were exhibited showing that O'Leary had made five hun- 
dred miles. 

From this hour till 8 o'clock there was the sameness of a tre- 
mendous excitement. As each man went around he was accom- 
panied by a great tide of sound, that went with him as a swell 
does with a moving ship. It was only this that kept them up. 
If O'Leary had stopped for two minutes he could never have 
started again. He was not allowed to stop even when he drank 
his soup or tea. Vaughau's eyes were set and bloodshot. He 
moved mechanically. He was borne on by the waves of sound, 
and excitement, and knew it not. Both men lost their conscious- 
ness. Except in the matter of motion, they were dead. 

Vaughan, at half-past 7, reached his five hundred miles. 
O'Leary was eighteen miles ahead. The contest would end at 
10 : 30. Even if O'Leary should break down, he could not close 



228 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

up the gap ia the three remaining hours. Knowing this, his 
friends yielded the figlit, and led the gallant fellow from the 
track. 

Thirty minutes later O'Leary reached five hundred and twenty 
miles. He had beaten his record with Weston by more than five 
hours. Bouquets rained upon him as he made a farewell lap 
after passing the last mile-post. With one in eacli hand, and 
bowing feebly right and left, he hobbled once more around. 
Then he was bundled in wraps, and between a couple of strong 
men he was led away, amidst a hurricane of hurrahs. It is now 
twenty-four hours since then, and I doubt very much if even now 
O'Leary is fully conscious that he has won the great match, or 
Vaughan that he has lost it. 



LETTER XXXVI, 

ENGLISH SOCIAL QUALITIES. 

London, April 3, 1878. 

NE would scarcely believe it, and yet the English are a 
social people — after their way. It is an intellectual affair 
"^^^^ when the English attempt anything of the kind. It is 
something which has very little of the emotional in it. 

The usual method of intercourse in the metropolis is by means 
of receptions. Nearly every family has a stated evening on 
which it " receives." This night is known among a certain set as 
"Lady Millefieur's niglit;" that one is the "Arundels' night," 
and so on. These receptions are inexpensive as a general thing. 
Coffee, tea, biscuits, sandwiches, and sherry, constitute the re- 
freshments offered, except here and there, in the case of a family 
by whom the furnishing of an elaborate supper is the rule. 

As to the matter of costume, all gentlemen must go in evening 
dress, while in the case of the ladies more latitude is allowed. 
They are in full dress, or they compromise the affair in some 
way, as they happen to feel about it. One lady in a walking- 
dress, and another in an expensive silk, very low as to neck and 
very long as to trail, may often be seen side by side on the same 
sofa. 



ENGLISH SOCIAL QUALITIES. 229 

Hn passant, I may say that the rules in regard to dress here are 
apt to puzzle an American at the beginning of his experience. 
What to wear and where to wear it requires no inconsiderable 
amount of study. Generally, however, so far as a gentleman is 
concerned, a " breakfast " or frock-coat will go anywhere up to 
dinner-time. Then the reign of the swallow-tail begins, and is 
never out of place, but is generally required, at everything from 
dinner to bedtime. 

There is only a very limited part of the opera-houses to which 
ladies wearing a hat or bonnet, and a gentleman not with a dress- 
coat and a white neck-tie will be admitted. In all the prominent 
theaters, there is always at least one portion of the house whose 
tickets inform the purchaser, "Evening dress indispensable." In 
fine, a claw-hammer coat is as much of a necessity in London as 
an umbrella, and more so. One can get along without an 
umbrella, but one cannot go into society to any extent without a 
white choker and a swallow-tail. 

Supposing a stranger to have the dress-coat, the white choker, 
and a few letters of introduction from the right people to the 
right people, he can get all the English society he wishes — that 
is to say, that if, in addition, he be a gentleman in manners. The 
English are particular in this respect. A man may be a donkey 
in intellect, and have ears rising high above his silk hat; he may 
not know the author of this book from the man who discovered 
the Cajje of Good Hope, and all will be forgiven if he have the 
manners of a gentleman. 

There is a peculiar phrase in great use here, which has a very 
significant meaning. It is borrowed from " hoss-talk," and is 
known as " good form." In its horsey acceptation it means a horse 
perfect in every respect, and liable to win the race. It has be- 
come transferred to society, and is used to stamp the quality of a 
man or woman. To say of a man that he is, or has " good form," is 
to furnish him with a passport into the politest and best society. 
To say of him that he isn't, or hasn't, " good form," is to damn 
him as certainly as if there were a brand of the word thief or 
forger across his forehead. If he have it, his other qualities and 
capabilities are little inquired for. He may be rich or poor, ig- 
norant or wise, and all do not matter. Good form is of more 
value to him than the most desirable of these possessions, and 
will carry him through in spite of them. On the other hand, 
the lack of it cannot be compensated for. Without it one may 



230 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

secure an entrance to a family, but he will be certain not to 
be invited to repeat bis visit. 

It is no easy matter to define with exactness what is meant 
by " good form " as used in English society. Primarily it 
means, of course, the possession of the manners of a gentleman. 
It has, however, an additional significance. It is, I fancy, a re- 
action from the exaggerated politeness of French manners. It 
is something the opposite of the vivacity, the restlessness of 
the French people. A man lias "good form" who is full of 
repose, who knows what to do with his hands, who does not 
fidget, who appears serene, who is easy in his attitudes, who 
does not gush, and who has an easy air of don't-care-a-damn- 
ativeness for everything that is said, and everybody with whom 
he comes in contact. 

Such, in a very general sense, is the meaning of "good form." 
One learns it rather from contact with it, from breathing the at- 
mosphere which surrounds it, rather than from definitions and 
descriptions. 

In a conversation with a gentleman, not long since, George 
Eliot was discussed. In the course of the confab, I said : 

" I am astonished at George Eliot in a phase developed in 
' Daniel Derouda.' You remember that Gwendolyn, the heroine, 
is loved by her cousin Rex, a fine, handsome, intelligent, manly- 
young fellow who is a year or two older than she, and has only 
the fault that as yet he is poor, and has to establish himself in 
life ? " 

" Yes, I remember it." 

" "Well, when he makes an avowal of his passion, she at once 
becomes permeated with a physical antipathy toward him. She 
declares she won't be made love to. Soon after she meets Grand- 
court, who is twice her age. He is bold, blase, and a roue. He 
has seduced a married woman, with whom he still preserves his 
relations, and Gwendolyn is aware of the fact. He drawls ; he is 
not a man of culture, or even of fair information. She fully com- 
prehends his character, but he is rich and has a position, and she 
marries him. She has an unconquerable physical antipathy to 
the young and handsome Rex, but she does not object to being- 
pawed over by the bald-headed, drawling old reprobate whom she 
marries." 

" True. Well ? " 

"Well, what I wish to know is, whether this is a development 



ENGLISH SOCIAL QUALITIES. 231 

from some peculiar inward consciousness of George Eliot, or a 
characteristic of English, social life, or some profound philosoph- 
ical fact which I don't happen to understand ? In any case, so 
far as I can comprehend this presentation by this masterly writer, 
it is unnatural and disgusting." 

" The fact is that Kex was young and gushing, while Grand- 
court was ' good form.' This gave him the advantage over his 
young and handsome rival. It is not ' good form ' to gush. 
There is nothing more distasteful to a well-bred English young 
lady than sentimental excesses. She admires ' good form ' beyond 
everything else, unless it may be the matter of wealth." 

"Ah, I see." 

" And here is a further fact indirectly connected with the same 
social phase. It is that a marriageable English girl is rather 
more likely than not to become enamored at the outset of her 
career with a man much older than herself. I know personally 
of hundreds of cases which justify this conclusion." 

•' What is the explanation ? " 

" Simply that an elderly man is usually ' good form,' doesn't 
gush, and is so much developed that he may be relied on." 

The suspicion crept into my mind, although I omitted to state 
it, that the fact that an elderly man is more likely to be " well 
fixed" than a younger one, may have some influence in leading 
the British maiden's fancy toward the ripeness of bald heads and 
whitened locks. 

But to return to English society, or English social characteris- 
tics, with which this epistle is intended more especially to deal. 
I do not speak from an exhaustive acquaintance with English 
society, but from a comparatively limited one. However, having, 
so far as I have gone, found the salient characteristics nearly 
always the same, I am, perhaps, warranted in drawing a general 
conclusion. 

As said at the beginning of this letter, the English are intel- 
lectually social, and either very little, or not at all so, from an 
emotional standpoint, or from one of the sentiments. Unless the 
gathering is especially for musical purposes, an ordinary evening 
at an English house will rarely be lightened by so much as a 
song or a bit of instrumental music. The piano is always pres- 
ent, always open, and suggestively lighted by towering wax can- 
dles, while piles of music by the best composers are close at hand. 
But nobody is asked to play, nobody seems even to think of music. 



2S2 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Equally tabooed are flirtations between the younger people; 
and except among certain people with large dramatic acquaint- 
ance and tendencies, a recitation is not on the programme. Jo- 
vial, jolly evenings, bubbling over with merriment, and spark- 
ling with the lighter coruscations of wit, or the broader flashes 
of humor, are exceptional in their occurrence. 

The entire lack of the emotional, or sentimental, makes an En- 
glish evening seem much heavier and duller than it really is. Phil- 
osophical discussion, frequently of the most frightfully abstruse 
kind, is, at present, very greatly in fashion. Kant, Comte, Carlyle, 
Herbert Spencer, John Stuart Mill, Swinburne — who, by the 
way, strikes me as an intellectual epileptic — Emerson, and other 
profound thinkers, including many of the French school, are all 
subjects brought into prominence during the course of an even- 
ing's conversation. One has to be everlastingly on the qui vive, 
or he will become hopelessly entangled in these discussions of 
authors, or of subjects in which the unknowable is handled in 
terms almost unknown. 

Last Sunday evening I was at a reception. The hostess had 
lured four or five of the guests in a group. There were in it a 
bald Oxford professor, a spectacled German doctor, who is at 
work on a history of philosophy, or a philosophy of history, or 
something ; the editor of a well-known literary weekly periodical 
in London, the hostess, and your correspcmdent. After a little 
preliminary talk, the conversation drifted on the cosmopolitan 
character of the higher forms of education. It was finally taken 
up by the Oxford professor, who talked while the rest listened. I 
followed " for dear life," till finally, wearied by the speed of the 
march and its length, I concluded that I might sneak out, and 
nobody would notice my departure. I do not mean to sneak out 
in a bodily sense. Oh, no ! But to sit there, and look intensely 
appreciative and interested, but, at the same time, pay only a 
seeming attention to the words of the speaker. 

And so, in my mind, I quietly sneaked out of view. My soul 
went to an upper room where, in imagination, seated on a sofa, 
and with my heels on the back of a couple of chairs, I puff'ed 
a fragrant cigar, while my thoughts went soaring away, any- 
where, everywhere, nowhere, on the lazy cloudlets of smoke. 
I was millions of leagues away from the Oxford professor, and 
the cosmopolitanism of high culture, when there suddenly shot 
across my wandering thoughts, like a great flash of lightning 



ENGLISH SOCIAL QUALITIES. 



233 




234 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

across a pacific summer landscape, the words uttered in a musical, 
feminine voice : » 

" And don't you think these views will serve to explain the 
tendency to mysticism among American writers ? " 

I came back to consciousness with a rush. The hostess had 
just fired off the damnable question at me, and was looking at me 
with smiling expectancy. I glanced around. The Oxford pro- 
fessor was looking at me to hear my reply. The editor of the 
weekly gazed at me through his glasses, which seemed obscured 
by a diabolical glare. I hadn't the remotest idea of what "these 
views " were. I never in all my life felt so guilty, so mean, so con- 
temptible. I would have given a year's earnings for an alarm 
of fire. I could not answer, and so I prevaricated : 

" May I ask just what you mean by mysticism among Ameri- 
can writers? " I said, with a tremendous effort to get on my Intel- 
lectual feet. 

" Well, more especially the productions of Emerson, Thoreau, 
the younger Hawthorne, and others." 

This gave me no clue to those accursed " views." I felt that I 
was gone. Deceit would avail no longer. I was about to be ex- 
posed as an egregious humbug. I thought of claiming to be 
suddenly seized with the colic, or toothache, or something, when 
just then the German philosopher, whose whole frame, including 
his spectacles, was convulsed with a desire to say somethings 
burst out with : 
" Will you " — meaning me — " permit me to say a word ? " 
Would I permit him to say a word ? Would a half-strangledj, 
drowning wretch, in love with life, permit somebody to hand 
him into a life-boat? Would a duck swim ? I (^^■(^ permit him. 

He commenced. He was a bottomless well, an inexhaustible 
spring. He talked for an hour. He demonstrated that American 
mysticism is the outgrowth of German thought and contact. He 
talked and allowed no interruption. In a metaphorical sense I 
took that Deutscher to my bosom, spectacles and all, and gave him 
my eternal friendship, and conferred on him millions of pounds 
sterling. The very moment he came to a pause, I pleaded neces- 
sity, shook hands with the hostess, folded my tent, and quietly 
stole away. I do not know yet what those "views" are which 
will serve to explain the tendency to mysticism among American 
■writers. But it was the narrowest escape I ever had in my life. 
I have related this simply as a specimen of much of the thought 



THE BOAT-EACE. 235 

that is developed in an English gathering; and also the necessity 
of the closest attention if one wishes to escape a catastrophe. 

The difference between American and English culture is not 
so much in dimensions as in proportions. There is less breadth 
and greater height in the latter. The English are more special- 
ists in education than the Americans. One of the latter, who is 
a journalist, for instance, will be very likely to have a more or 
less thorough knowledge of every branch of his profession, from 
" sticking type " and " imposing a form " to writing a " leader." 
The English journalist knows but one thing; but he is likely to 
know that well. If a leader-writer, he reads, studies, educates 
himself exclusively for leader-writing, and nothing else. The 
same applies in otlier directions. The result is chemists who 
know chemistry to the uttermost, but who cannot tell whether 
the Missouri river runs through New York or the state of Havana ; 
or whether or not the President of the United States is elected by 
a popular vote, an Electoral College, or by throwing dice. In 
short, the culture of England, like the possession of its land, is 
limited to the few ; and these few are, in the main, specialists. I 
need scarcely say that this differs materially from our condition, 
in which education is cosmopolitan in its extent, and in which 
there will be found ffew natives who are not tolerably familiar 
with other countries as well as their own, and who are well " up " 
on all the salient questions of the age. 

These facts do not, however, bear materially on the social 
characteristics of the English. I have, in this letter, scarcely 
more than touched upon this phase of English life. Some other 
time, I hope to be able to treat it in a more exhaustive manner. 



LETTER XXXVII. 

THE BOAf-KACE. 

London, April 18, 1878. 

^jTpi^OR the last two or three weeks the London papers have 
Cjrr^ been mysterious reading to a stranger. That is to say, 
'^^^^ mysterious in some respects. Each issup of every paper 
has devoted from half a column to a column to the approaching 



236 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

boat-race. This was easy enough, to understand. It was the 
details that were puzzling and incomprehensible. For instance, 
this morning it would be that the " dark-blues went tubbing." 
Inquiry on this point, at one place, elicited the information that 
" tubbing " meant taking a bath, while another equally respon- 
sible authority asserted that to tub means to practice rowing in 
a boat known as a tub. 

Then again the startling fact was announced that the cantabs 
did not " feather under the water." It was followed soon by the 
demoralizing assertion that the "light blues were not rowing 
with their legs," after which a distressed j^ublic was informed 
that they didn't " row their stroke out." 

Again the lugubrious fact appalled the metropolis that the 
" sliding was bad," which was speedily followed by the sinister 
opinion that the "time was not good." Before the world had 
gotten used to this frightful accumulation, people were horrified 
to learn that there was something wrong with the " swing," 
which was irregular and lacked the quality of being simultane- 
ous. To cap the horrors of the situation, some journals had the 
temerity and the unwisdom to insinuate that the " catch was de- 
fective ;" their "recovery" not all it should be; th^t they used 
•up too much time in " straightening the arms ;" and, worst of 
all, that too much work was left to the arms instead of econo- 
mizing the weaker muscles by throwing the labor on the back 
and legs. 

Then, again, there were extensive dilations upon how neces- 
sary it is " to have well-set arms, and an upright position to re- 
sist the force of the wind ;" and which has the further advantage 
that it " prepares for the ensuing stroke." Besides all these 
enigmatical assertions and insinuations there was an abundance 
of other alarming matter. Sometimes the public was told that 
this crew or that had made a " burst." Again it had been 
"spurting." At this point it had " easied," and at that it had 
" paddled." It had encountered a " scratch at the Crab Tree," 
and "slowed at the Soap-house," while at "Biffen's" they were 
a " half a length to the good." Occasionally one was treated to 
a dose of hieroglyphics such as " R. H. Labat (L. B. C.) ; C S. 
Holmes (C. U. B. C), W. H. Cross (O. U. B. C.)," and so on to an 
extent calculated to drive one of the uninitiated into remediless 
insanity. 

If the terms in use by the London newspapers have been 



THE BOAT-EACE. 237 

mysterious, their critical Icnowledge of rowing has been astoaish- 
ing. No matter how influeatial or liow obscure tlie journal, its 
criticisms on the practice have all been ex cathedrd giving one the 
impression that every London newspaper employs a professor of 
aquatics to do up the boat-race. It is true that there has been 
little agreement among these various gentlemen, for while some 
have severely condemned a certain point in one or the other crew, 
the same thing has been flatteringly commented on by some other 
professors. I fancy that if the crews had taken all the sage 
advice given them by the London critics, there would have been 
not less than thirty-seven styles of rowing in each boat, which 
would have been at the rate of four and three-eighths different 
styles of execution per man. It might have been a trifle difficult 
to have made much of a race under such circumstances; and 
yet to conclude thus, would be to conclude that a London critic 
is fallible. This wouldn't do, you know, for a moment, for every 
Englishman is born possessed of a thorough knowledge of dogs, 
'osses, boxing, riding, and rowing — at least he thinks he is. How 
men can be thus intuitively endowed, thus infallible from a con- 
genital standpoint, and yet so widely differ, is something whick 
I will not explain because I do not understand it. 

It is pleasant, after having been lost in these labyrinths, to get 
out into an open country where progress is unobstructed, the 
view clear, and the landmarks recognizable. Of the hearty ap- 
preciation and enjoyment of the English people for athletic 
exercises and out-door sports, there is no mystery, no obscurity, 
no question. Nearly a hundred thousand people paid to witness 
the late six-days walk. The very next week almost as many more 
paid for the privilege of witnessing another and shorter walk at 
the same place. As everybody knows, there are one or two 
horse races each year that assume the magnitude of national 
events. The same is true of the annual, university boat-races. An 
approaching race forms a leading topic in the local columns of 
the press for weeks before the event occurs. Every day, except 
Sunda}rs, during the last two weeks, the attendance of people to 
witness the practice of the crews has often reached the tens of 
thousands. The tow-path on the south bank, the bridges, the 
lawns, wharves, houses on the north side, from Putney to Mort- 
lake, have been densely thronged with human beings, with, men, 
women, children, equestrians, dogs, gypsies, solely to witness the 
practice rowing of the crews. This fact becomes the more im- 



238 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

portant when it is understood that, owing to the great sweep 
made by the river, in passing over the course a crew is at no 
time visible for more than tliree or four minutes, and often for 
not more tlian one minute. And yet to obtain this momentary 
glimpse all these thousands have traveled from the city, have 
stood about for hours, have braved cutting east winds, driving 
rains, and furious storms of hail and snow. Whatever may be 
the facts in the case of the thousand and one dogmatic critics of 
the English newspapers, there is certainly no pretence or sliam 
among the masses. Their sincerity is abundantly i^roved by their 
attendance under such unfavorable circumstances, and their 
enthusiasm over every incident and development of the fort- 
night's daily half-hour practice of the crews. 

I confess an entire inability to understand why a hundred or 
two thousand people endure every conceivable discomfort for 
hours, in order to see two boat-loads of students glance by and 
disappear in a moment around a bend. There are philosophic 
souls who profess to find the explanation of the pervading 
interest and enthusiasm in the fact that only a section of it is 
seen, and that then there are anticipation before the eights come 
along, and speculation as to the result after they pass. There 
may be something in this view of the matter; but I am inclined 
to think precedent and fashion have everything to do in creating 
public excitement. Oxford and Cambridge represent the wealth, 
the blue blood, the old families of the kingdom. Of course the 
families of all the contestants have an interest ; and, indirectly, 
all who have anything to do with either of the universities. 

Precedent has a good deal to do with the popularity of the 
occurrence. It has been the custom to go; and that alone is 
reason enough why people should go now, just as because it has 
been the custom, on Guy Fawkes' day, to search beneath the 
houses of parliament for barrels of gunpowder and combustibles; 
the ridiculous search it still kept up. 

The strongest reason why an Englishman should or should not 
do a thing is, that his predecessors have or have not done it. In 
the case of an American, the fact that people had been doing a 
given thing in a given manner, would give rise to a question as 
to whether it should not be done in some other way. 

The university contest is an old affaii', in a comparative sense. 
It commenced back as far as 1839. From and inclusive of that 
contest and that just rowed, there have been forty-one races 



THE BOAT-KACE. 239 

"between the universities. Before to-day the score stood : Oxford, 
20 victories ; Cambridge, 18. Once, in 1849, there was a foul and 
no result ; and last year there was a dead-heat. The first contest 
was rowed at Henley ; then there were five from Westminster to 
Putney. All the others have been rowed between Putney and 
Mortlake, except on five occasions, between 1845 and 1855, when 
the crews contended for the grand challenge cup at Henley. On 
three occasions the course has been from Mortlake to Putney, but 
since 1864, the course has been regularly from Putney to Mortlake. 

At Mortlake the Thames bends to the north till it reaches Ham- 
mersmith, when it sweeps around to the south to Putney, forming 
a very creditable horseshoe, the distance being four miles and two 
furlongs between the points rowed by the rival crews. The 
shores, especially the north one, are full of historic and personal 
interest. Putney, on the south bank, — the starting point, — has a 
church in which Cromwell often held council of war with his 
leaders. Pitt died in Putney, and Douglas Jerrold and Leigh 
Hunt are among other notabilities who have lived in the quaint 
old town. 

Nearly opposite, on the north bank, is Fulham, celebrated for 
its tapestry and "Fulham pottery." Here Theodore Hook is 
buried, and here also is Fulham Palace, for several hundreds of 
years the residence of the bishops of London. On the same bank 
and further along, is Craven Cottage, once the residence of Bul- 
wer, while a little further on is Crab Tree inn, a spot which 
Queen Elizabeth once used to frequent, and about which there 
are now some stately residences. 

Next comes Hammersmith bridge. At Hammersmith Capt. 
Marryatt once lived, and many another person who gained a 
world-wide reputation as singer, dramatist, author, artist. A short 
distance beyond Hammersmith, and on the same side — the north 
— is the pleasant and antiquated suburb of Chiswick. Hogarth 
lived, died, and was buried here. Further along on the other 
side is Barnes, where a bridge crosses the river. The town is 
mainly noted as being the place where, in 1812, the Count and 
Countess d'Autraignes were murdered by their Italian valet, who 
completed the affair by killing himself. A short distance beyond, 
and also on the south bank, is Mortlake, where are located the 
Ship inn and the winning post. The town has some historic 
interest as having been a residence of the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, and for its once-famous tapestry looms. 



240 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

It is thus seen that the banks on both sides are classical in 
their historic associations. The north bank is especially rich in 
this respect; and it is also attractive from the many charming 
villas whose stylish grounds extend down to the water. During 
a race, nearly every inch of the space along both banks is 
crowded with spectators. Platforms are erected close to the 
water for the use of the owners of the private grounds. Every 
liouse which commands a view of the river has its windows, 
porticoes, balconies, roof, fences, black with siglit-seers. On the 
south there are the tow-path along the river's brink, rows of 
trees, and many open fields lying beyond. The tow-path is lined 
for miles with people packed like herrings. The trees swarm 
with occupants, while in the fields beyond, carriages, carts, 
'buses, and every other conceivable form of vehicle are crowded 
as thick as they can stand. All these are covered with people 
whose enthusiasm over the race seems in an inverse ratio to 
the smallness of the glimpse they can get of it. Were it not 
that the bridges are closed against the crowd, tliey, too, would 
be packed with humanity ; but, as there are well-founded fears 
that the structures would not sustain the enormous weight, they 
are rigidly closed during the hours of the contest. Could one 
stand on Hammersmith bridge, one could look down both 
limbs of the horse-shoe, and would see on either side masses 
of people, enlivened by the gay colors of women's dresses, and 
flanking the stream with dense, living walls. 

The characteristics of this enormous mass, as well as the 
scene on the water, will be given further along. 

As is known, the crews consist of eight oarsmen, and a cox- 
swain to each boat. The boats used are some forty to fifty feet 
in length, have sliding seats, and no keels, and are rowed with 
round oars. Up to 1845 the race was rowed in clumsy boats ; 
and then a change was made for outriggers. In 1857 the present 
style of boats without keels, and having round oars, was intro- 
duced; and in 1873 a further improvement was made by the 
addition of sliding seats. I may add here that the slowest time 
ever made on the present course was 26 minutes and 5 seconds, 
in 1863, and the fastest 19.35, in 1873, on the occasion of the 
inti'oduction of the sliding seats. Time, however, is not wholly 
a matter of rowing. The weather and state of the water are of 
cardinal value in the matter of speed. The race is usually rowed 
at whatever time of day the tide is most favorable, and this is 



THE BOAT-EACE. 241 

believed to be when the tide is coming in, and just ])efore it is 
full. As the tide flows with considerable speed, and as the 
boats are rowed with it, and not against it, much better time is 
made than could be in still water. 

During the progress of a race the course is kept free from 
steamers and other water craft. A boat carrying the umpire 
goes just behind the crews, and next comes the press boat. All 
others have to remain a certain distance in the rear. 

Yesterday, the day before the contest, is known as " Boat-Race 
day." It is the day upon which the students of Cambridge and 
Oxford come in force to London, and, in their way, they count 
upon "running the town," as far as they can. London is so 
very large that despite the importance and aristocratic connec- 
tions of the students, they cannot occujDy the entire city, clear 
all the streets, and fill all the theatres, music-halls, and supper- 
rooms. Failing to cover all the ground, they do the next most 
feasible thing, which is to concentrate at one or two points, and 
make, the most of the situation. Hitherto the Cremorne Gardens, 
the Argyll Rooms, and Evans's supper and concert hall have 
been honored by the presence of these gentlemen on the even- 
ing of " Boat-Race day." A few months since the Cremorne 
Gardens were closed up and dismantled. Latterly the Argyll 
Rooms have found it expedient to shut the establishment on 
this evening, on account of the behavior of the young gentlemen 
from the universities. There thus remained to them only 
" Evans'." I went down early and got a good seat, to witness 
the row which everybody prophesied was certain to occur. On 
several occasions they have gutted this classical place; and I 
had strong hopes of witnessing something vigorous in the way 
of a universal scrimmage. I think I am out of lucft, for, as the 
race to-day is universally regarded as the poorest ever rowed, and 
I therefore missed seeing a most exciting affair, so last night no 
row rewarded my three hours' waiting. The students were there 
and jammed the place to suffocation, but for the first time no 
fight occurred. People console me by the assertion that there is 
sure to be one in the same place to-night; and that the unusual 
abstinence of last night will make to-night's doings all the more 
" blooming " and emphatic. 

At 8 :30 the press boat swung loose from Temple pier, and 
started up the river. There were some twenty-five of us on board. 
We started with fair hopes. We returned — but I won't anticipate. 
16 



242 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Early as the hour was everything that could float was pressed 
into service and was headed up the stream. There were the 
long, narrow river steamers covered from bow to stern with men 
and women. Small tugs were towing large barges, and these 
were loaded down with human freight. The throng of small 
boats propelled by oars was immense ; and the pluck of those 
tugging at the oars something commendable, in view of the fact 
that they had before them a pull of several miles to reach the 
place of contest. Nearly everything that floated carried a flag. 
Often it was the Union Jack. One or two more pretentious 
crafts flew that colossal and highly-pictorial piece of bunting, 
the British flag. There were banners of all patterns and all 
colors. Some of the more pronounced partisans of the occasion 
floated on the breeze the colors of the contestants — the light blue 
of Cambridge or the deep azure of the Hoxfords. 

Nor were the charms of music lacking. Now a dingey would 
appear, two young women squeezed side by side in the stern 
sheets, one man tugging valiantly at the stubby oars, while another 
jerked a most excruciating version of " We don't want to fight." 
(I don't believe they do) from a puffing concertina. A harji and 
a violin came from the deck of a more pretentious craft, while 
still higher in the scale darted along a vessel from whose decks 
poured the strains of a full brass band. Along the noble Thames 
embankment on the north shore, could be seen an unbroken tide 
of vehicles and pedestrians setting up the river; and from the 
roof of an omnibus here and there there rang out over the water 
the clear ta-ra-la-la of some well-blown bugle. Hansoms, 
"crawlers," omnibuses, four-in-hand drags, dog-carts; in short, 
every possible kind of vehicle known to London could be seen 
on the shore, all being propelled at a sharp trot up the sinuous 
banks. 

It was a grand, a stunning prelude to a most "lame and im- 
potent" conclusion— something like what would be an orchestral 
prelude of a hundred instruments played to a solo on a jews- 
harp, by a fifteenth-rate performer. 

Dodging, twisting, and winding about to avoid running over 
the infinite press of small boats, or into the larger ones, we at 
last passed under quaint old Putne}^ bridge, thence on beneath 
the Aqueduct, and then, a few yards further, we tied up to a 
dummy anchored near the north shore, and found ourselves at 
the starting-point. 



THE BOAT-KACE. 243 

There was an enormous crowd gathered here. The bridge 
-was black with people. Upon the high Aqueduct groups had 
gathered, dotting its lofty sweep like flies. On the adjacent 
hanks the spectators were gathered in great masses, black as to 
tone, but lightened here and there with the dresses of women. 
Tip the shores as far as the eye could take in the banks, there 
stood solid lines of spectators, gay with banners, from the mounte- 
banks, gipsy shooting-galleries, cocoanut bowling-alleys, circular 
swings, and other arrangements for amusing the crowd and 
winning their money. 

At 10:15' the press-boat was ordered to fall back to the bridge. 
"We did so. Then the umpire's boat took the place we had left. 
It was black with people. To the right of the umpire's boat 
there came a steamer loaded to the guards with Oxford students. 
To the left came another steamer laden to the same extent with 
Cambridge students. These three formed a solid wall. 

Somebody said "They're off !" I saw nobod}^ which answered 
to "they." The three boats in front of us moved ahead. We 
did the same. There was evidently something in front of these 
boats. I could see the men in them waving their hands and 
their hats. An excitement of some kind made its way along 
the dense masses on the banks. Faintly came to us from the 
living walls, " Oooray, Hoxford!" 

Some twenty-three minutes after the start it was announced 
that Oxford had won. I saw nothing of the race. The three 
boats in advance of us, with their great human cargoes, com- 
pletely shut us out, and we saw nothing. 

An evening paper just out says : " We are indebted to a gentle- 
man who stood on the paddle-box of the umpire's boat for the 
following account of the race." 

A greater fraud on journalism was never perpetrated. 

At Mortlake, there were gathered illimitable masses of spec- 
tators. They howled, swayed, swung their hats, canes, and um- 
brellas. I judge from their actions that there was a race. 

As for me, although in the press-boat, I never saw either crew, 
or the drop of an oar in the water 



244 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER XXXVIII. 

WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

London, April 20, 1878. 

^^1^ EN" who, in America, know little, and often care less, 
j/(^V^\ about the other salient features of London, or of En- 
•"^^BS^ gland, such as Parliament House, the grand monu- 
ments, the cathedrals, the historic castles, the ivy-clad ruins of 
once-famous monasteries, are often men who have a thousand 
times in fancy wandered through Westminster Abbey; have 
stood over its graves, beside its monuments, and beneath its lofty 
arches, inhaling, although thousands of miles away, an atmos- 
phere heavy with a grandeur born of modern and mediaeval ages. 

How often before I stood within the " awful shadows " of its 
presence, have I constructed a mental picture, whose filling 
lacked no breadth, no coloring, no details to make it the grand- 
est work that ever grew into shape under the creative power of 
my imagination. It was a picture with massive shadows in 
which slumbered the mighty past; with bursts of sunlight here, 
the gleam of marble there ; now a towering cenotaph, and again 
the contrasts of dingy tombs whose legends were long since ef- 
faced by remorseless time. And yet when, years after the con- 
struction of this ideal picture, I saw the reality, they were the 
same and yet not the same. 

They were unlike because the ideal fell short of the real. In 
the actiial presence of the grand old structure ; within its hal- 
lowed walls the former shrank to puny dimensions. Its coloring 
was faulty, its drawing inartistic, its ensemble to the actual thing 
what a cracked, faded daub by a house-painter would be by the 
side of a Frith, a Reynolds, or a Wilkie. Possibly there are 
others who have undergone the same experience — who, in the 
presence of the reality, have found their ideal shattered like a 
penny mirror by a blazing thunderbolt. 

It is because the creation of the imagination differs so widely 
from that accretion of the centuries — Westminster Abbey — that 
I am induced to essay a new description as I saw it. It is not 
expected that anything novel will be presented. It is not ex- 
pected that what may be said w^ill be even up to the average of 
what others have already written. The most that is hoped is 
that, as each observer sees a thing from a different stand-point, 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 245 

the view about to be presented may correct a conclusion here, 
add a suggestion there, to ideals already in existence — the crea- 
tion of those who have yet to see, or, worse, may never see, the 
reality of their dreams. Again, there may be others who hur- 
riedly rushed along through nave and transept and cloisters, who 
have glanced at here and there a tomb, a statue, a monumental 
slab, who would be glad to have the rough outlines of their re- 
membrance filled in with the finer details of the scene. 

One who has formed a conception of Westminster Abbey will 
scarcely know whether he is the more pleased or disappointed 
when he first finds himself face to face with the reality. It is like 
and unlike what he had conceived. He had never in his con- 
struction made allowance for adjoining open spaces, for the pro- 
pinquity of huge, and insignificant buildings, or for the effect 
which comes from slopes, heights, and depressions. A building 
with one class of surroundings is quite another thing when en- 
vironed with a diiferent class. And thus it happens, if one 
catches sight of the Abbey across the broad, open space that 
stretches from Parliament street it seems dwarfed by comparison 
with his ideal. If he first come from out the lofty buildings 
from the direction of Westminster Palace hotel, its nearness 
gives it increased height, and it towers as much above his con- 
ception as, in the view across the open space, it fell below it. 
Even against the background aflbrded by the long houses of par- 
liament, with their innumerable and petty architectural details, 
it becomes massive, solid, grand in its integrity. 

And yet when one scans the outlines of the vast, dark gray 
mass which looms before him, when one takes in one by one the 
greater details of the structure, its integrity disappears. Vast 
buttresses here, lighter ones there, windows of diverse shapes 
and occupying dift'erent lines; ornamentation close upon orna- 
mentation without harmony and intelligible connection; ana- 
chronism in chronological sequences ; pinnacles, clustered col- 
umns, arches ; nowhere apparent anything like homogeneity ; the 
light and fanciful superimposing the dark and massive — these 
are what one discovers when the front is interrogated little by 
little, and each item is taken in detail. To study the exterior 
thus in sections is a work which excites curiosity, pain, disap- 
pointment, although there is here and there a bit of beauty that 
comes with the force of a revelation. It is far better for the archi- 
tectural critic to give little attention to the Abbey except from a 



246 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

distant point of view. Then its inharmonious details blend har- 
moniously ; the massive grandeur alone becomes revealed. He 
sees a great, dark, irregular mass, from out which spring sturdy- 
towers, spires, pointed gables, pinnacles. He sees the long vertical 
lines, the high-arched windows, and the whole flanked by vast 
buttresses which seem powerful enough to hold the mass intact 
against the shock of an earthquake. 

It varies in its character and suggestions as one thus studies it 
as a whole. It grows into a mausoleum gray with the attrition 
of centuries; and "grand, gloomy, and peculiar," sits enthroned 
in a panoply of its own shadows. It is a colossal, sombre con- 
glomerate, in which are united all the grand suggestions and 
ideas of more than a thousand years. Here are architectural 
ideas from the days of the crude and barbarous Anglo-Norman^ 
thence through the pure Gothic with its slender lines, to the Tu- 
dor, and thence along to the recognizable features of compara- 
tively modern days. In this agglomeration are suggestions of 
remote Paganism, of the splendor of Romanism, of the days of 
the Reformation, of stern Puritanism, and later religious eras. 
It is a great rock over which have rolled and broken the wave* 
and currents of centuries of social, religious and intellectual 
changes. Within its capacious crypts reposes dust gathered 
from a broad highway of life which runs straight back to a time 
when modern civilization was in its infancy, — when the slender 
new moon of intelligence had but barely risen above the hori- 
zon. It embodies within and without every phase of English, 
growth, from the sturdy Saxon to the era of a Gladstone and a 
Beaconsfield. 

Such, in brief, is Westminster Abbey to one who studies its ex- 
terior, who reads the lettering written by time upon its moss- 
grown walls, who comprehends a few of the suggestions eman- 
ating from its shadowy bulk, its eloquent, voiceless silence. 

The visitor who, for the first time, passes through the thick 
walls to the interior of Westminster Abbey, will be at once con- 
fused with the multiplicity of details. If he has formed an idea 
at all of the interior, it will have perhaps been that of an ordi- 
nary cruciform church, along whose nave and transepts he can 
obtain uninterrupted views. Nothing is more erroneous. The 
moment the observer steps within, he is stunned by a pervading- 
particularity. He sees nothing which resembles the ordinary 
church. Instead, there are narrow passages leading everywhere ; 



■WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 247 

there are colonnades whose perspective is broken by the interpo- 
sition of galleries, lofty statues, and massive emblematic groups, 
and other objects which, in the distance, melt away into appa- 
rent chaos. 

Stunned by this endless accumulation of the unexpected, the 
visitor finds himself at first disappointed. He anticipated great 
spaces, unbroken lines, long perspectives, and finds them not. 
Railed spaces, high partitions, niches in the massive walls, tombs, 
effigies, gilded gates are all about him. If he attempt to study 
the architecture within his view, his confusion, is redoubled, for 
he sees everywhere evidence of the hands of widely-separated 
ages, each of which, in shaft, architrave, and column, has worked 
out its own idea, developed its "own taste, without reference of 
what had gone, or what yet might come. Details by the million 
flout him from the mosaic pavement, up along the towering col- 
umns to the groined arches high up toward the fretted roof. 
Everywhere armorial insignia, stained windows, sunk panels, 
bosses, obelisks, dusty flags, marbles, and things without name 
or number. Tliis changes only when one has traversed the cha- 
otic wilderness of the transept, and has reached, after devious 
wanderings, the north aisle of the nave. Here, and here only, 
in the wliole structure, does one secure a view of any extent — • 
one which atfords a commensurate idea of the length of the 
Abbey. 

As one steps into this aisle the chaos of the transepts disap, 
pear. High over tlie observer rise, from either side, rows of col, 
umns, whose tops are interwoven in pointed arches. Along this 
vista the Abbey is seen from end to end. That is, one may see 
it, if one can ; but the distance is so great, the interwoven arches 
of the columns dip so rapidly, the columns unite so speedily, the 
perspective so narrows, that long before the eye can reach the re- 
mote end, it is lost in the dim and closing distance. 

This view, such as it is, is the only one of any considerable 
extent. It is true that, as the visitor branches into otlier aisles, 
as he suddenly I'ounds the corner of a tomb, or a chapel, a long 
and misty opening will now and tlien flash upon him, and which, 
when followed, loses itself in an obscurity in which are dimly 
seen dusty banners, and scarcely-outlined fret-work, and endless 
ornamentation. Such views, however, are exceptional. The in- 
terior of the Abbey has no general sense of vastness. There are 
colossal and infinitesimal details. It is a great city of the dead, 



248 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

and their monumental piles have gradually changed the church 
into a sepulchre. It is something which cannot be studied as a 
whole. It is hardly to be resolved into groups, for even where 
there are creations similar in name they are utterly unlike in re- 
ality. There are cloisters and chapels and tombs, and yet no 
cloister, or chapel, or tomb resembles in the least, any other of 
the same designation. 

Despite the fact that the Abbey is a mausoleum, and not a 
church, yet so vast is it that room is found in tlie nave for a con- 
gregation. Here an audience of thousands may assemble and 
not impinge upon the monumental creations which so crowd the 
space of the building. Each afternoon, and on the Sabbath, at 
given hours, great volumes of liiusic go, rolling like the waves 
through the breakers, among the sculptured marbles, by chapel, 
column, oratory and porch, till they die away and are lost among 
the tombs, or in the hazy recesses of the lofty roof 

An attempt to intelligibly describe the interior in detail must, 
almost of necessity, be a failure, unless in a great volume, which 
should have a pictured illustration with every line of descrip- 
tion. The most that can be done in an article like this, is to 
group a few of the more salient features, and perhaps to elabor- 
ate here and there a notable particular. 

The interior of "Westminster Abbey divides itself into two gen- 
eral parts. One of these is composed of the transepts and their 
aisles, and the nave and its aisles. The other is made up of the 
chapels and the choir. Of the former in detail, it is not neces- 
sary to speak, as a description would unavoidably be architect- 
ural and technical in its character, and, therefore, not of general 
interest. The same may be said of the choir, which, however 
interesting as a work of art, is, in the main, of modern construc- 
tion. It forms no essential part of the idea which treats the 
Abbey as a great mausoleum ; and, hence, it may be dismissed 
from the present article. There remain the chapels, with their 
tombs, and the nave and transepts, so far as they are occupied by 
the graves or the monuments of the dead. 

If one should picture a gigantic cross — emblem of suffering ! 
— one would have the main outlines of the Abbey. In that por- 
tion Ijdng above the arms, or transepts, in what may be termed 
the head, are the chapels, some twelve in nu.mber. In the left 
arm of the cross, or south transept, is what is known as " Poet's 
Corner." Along the sides of the body of the cross, or nave, be- 



' "WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 249 

iind the long rows of columns, on the walls, one sees each 
square foot of space occupied with the mementoes of the 
dead. Here are no graves, as in the chapels and the Poet's Cor- 
ner. Here are statues, busts, intaglios, columns, hatchments, an- 
aglyphs in bronze, brass, marble, iron, wood. 

These, thefi, constitute the great charm, or attraction, of West- 
minster Abbey. It is not the great resounding organ ; the groined 
canopies of the stalls ; the variegated alabaster of the reredos 
with its superb sculpture, and a fafade scarcely with an equal 
for its elaborate beauty and its exquisite finish; nor the grand 
windows with their venerated themes and rich colorings. These, 
and the colonnades, the tracery, the mouldings, the gilding ; the 
groined arches, and lofty roof losing itself in apparently im- 
measurable distance, are all, despite their beauty and merit, mere 
tinsel when compared to the interest which attaches itself to the 
sublimity of the sepulchre. One can find elsewhere equal arch- 
itectural beauty, equal antiquity of construction, equal claims in 
decoration and finish, but nowhere else a place in which sleep so 
many men and women who once shone as suns in the world's 
firmament. Here one sees the tomb of royal Sebert, the Saxon, 
who lived more than twelve hundred years ago — centuries be- 
fore the Norman invasion, and at a time when the human race 
had scarcely passed beyond the sound of the living voice of the 
Nazarene. About him are Edward the Confessor — whose dust 
is weighed down with the burden of more than a thousand years ; 
the Henrys III., V., and VII.; the Edwards I., III., and V.; 
Richard II. ; James I. ; Charles 11. ; William III. ; George II., 
and fourteen Queens who once were reigning sovereigns, or the 
consorts of Kings. Nowhere is there such an assemblage of 
royal dust. Scarcely a family of any note in England, during 
all the tempestuous periods of her existence, from the days of 
the Roman invasion to that of the Danes and Normans, and 
thence along through domestic strife or foreign wars in which 
the English battle-flag swept victoriously the seas and lands of 
the known world, but has here its representative. 



PAET IL--THE CONTINENT. 




" YOUNG FKAMCE." 



THE CONTINENT. 



LETTER XXXIX. 

ENGLISH AND FKENCH. 

Paris, May 2, 1878. 

tHE change from London, with its chilling east winds, its 
eternal fogs, its smoke-stained buildings, to Paris, with its 
bursts of sunshine, its April showers, its bright archi- 
tecture, its trees all in green and the white of blossoms, is a most 
marked one. Nothing can be more unlike than these two cities. 
They are antipodean in every essential particular. After an 
acquaintance with both, one would be almost tempted to con- 
clude that there is something more than the mere accident of 
nationality and location to account for this dissimilarity. 

In fact, I know that intention, in many cases, underlies the 
difference. The coldness, the indifference of polite English 
society are a reaction from the extreme agreeability and polite- 
ness of French manners. To do just what a Frenchman or 
woman would not do under the same circumstances seems to be 
the rule of action with a majority of the English people. 

" Oh, the French! " said an intelligent Londoner to me, "they 
are not men, they're monkeys ! They're undersized, contemptible, 
everlastingly grinning, bowing and scraping. D — n 'em, they're 
not men in any true sense of the word ! " 

It might be worth while to endeavor to ascertain the origin of 
this mutual dislike — for it is mutual, as I have discovered with- 
out diflB.culty, even during my short residence in Paris. How- 
ever, this is a something too dry for an ordinary correspondence, 
and I will skip it for other topics more animated and requiring 
less thought. 

Without at present taking any notice of the question of motiveSj 
(353) 



254 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

or stopping to inquire whetlier Englisli or French are more polite 
at heart, I may say that the external manifestations are surpris- 
ingly unlike. On the streets, in the cars, everywhere in public, 
the English people are brutal, while the French are precisely the 
reverse. An Englishman under these circumstances seems never 
to have any regard except for himself, while a Frenchman seems 
in the main possessed by the idea that it is his duty to deny him- 
self in the interest of others. An Englishman never makes room 
for you in a 'bus except with a most ungracious manner. If he 
l)e in a compartment of a car, he resents the entrance of every- 
body else as an intrusion. On the other hand, the Frenchman 
goes out of his way to accommodate another. He indicates a 
seat not occupied in a public conveyance. He appears glad to 
see another enter a compartment where he may be by himself. 
He always has a polite ^'■Bonjour''^ for the newcomer, and is 
ready for a chat, to answer all questions, to volunteer informa- 
tion. 

The Englishman who enters an eating-room does it with a 
scowl, if anybody else be present. He seeks the most secluded 
corner, and always, if possible, a table by himself The French- 
man always enters with a smile, lifting his hat politely as he 
passes the door, and then, if he can, secures a table where there 
are others with whom he can gossiji while he feeds. And so it is 
everywhere and in everything. The Englisman, as a general 
thing, dislikes Americans; the Frenchman, while cheating them 
always, yet likes them. The latter is all upon the surface; he 
lives on the streets, in the parks, at the cafe's, and only goes home 
when he has no other place to go to. The former despises the 
companionship of the streets ; he puts his worst qualities on the 
surface, and prefers home to any other locality. 

One distinguishes a great difference in the street cries of the 
two countries. In the streets of London, one who has anything 
to sell announces it with a straight, short, barbarous howl, that 
is without decoration and without meaning, to a stranger. The 
street-hawkers of Paris have their cries set to music. The fellow 
who wishes to inform the public that he is in search of old hats 
to buy or repair, does so in a cry of four or five notes that vary 
from a monotone and fall always j^leasantly on the ear. The 
architecture of London is dingy, plain, and full of severity, while 
that of Paris is bright in material, ornamental and inviting. 

Despite all these superficial differences, it does not follow that 



ENGLISH AND FRENCH. 255 

the balance is against the English. After a stay among them of 
nearly a year, I must say that all their worst qualities are on the 
outside. At their homes, in their domestic and social life, they 
are a people who have no superiors in intelligence, cultivation, 
hospitality and generosity. I most gladly pay them this tribute, 
because truth demands it, and because their treatment of your 
corresi3ondent has been invariably of a kind which must com- 
mand his life-long gratitude. If hospitality without ostentation ; 
if fine appreciation and unceasing consideration; if hearty 
Jionesty of character demand respect, then the English people, 
in their social capacity, have most thoroughly won mine. I 
began by disliking them, and have ended by concluding that 
they have few, if any, superiors in their inner life. Give the 
average Englishman the manners of a Frenchman, in public, 
jand he would be a character to which little would need be 
added. 

Of the Englishman other than in his social life, I have nothing 
at present to say. 

Perhaps nothing shows more forcibly the difierence between 
the two nations than the character of their funerals. There can 
be no more lugubrious, clumsy, unpoetical affair than an English 
funeral. The hearse is a house on wheels — massive, unwieldy, a 
mountain of woe. The hired mourners, a lot of bottle-nosed 
stablemen, with their long weepers, are the embodiment of 
everything ridiculous and absurd. A dead body among the 
English seems to be a thing which everybody fears and avoids 
with horror. I have often seen an Englishman turn down a 
street so as not to meet an approaching funeral. 

In Paris there is no elephantine hearse, no paid mourners with 
noses in red and faces covered with simulated woe. Often there 
is no hearse at all. Several times have I met processions in which 
•children in spotless white, and moving two and two, were, in 
advance of a colfin buried in flowers, and carried on a light 
framework of wood, covered with black and white cloth. Behind 
would come other children and the relatives of the deceased, all 
on foot, and with white dresses trimmed with crape and ribbons, 
giving a hopeful character to the occurrence and relieving it of a 
sombre, oppressive solemnity. Often, when a hearse is employed, 
it is open, showing the outlines of the coflfln through a pall bor- 
dered with white. Masses of flowers remove the last vestige of 
anything offensive or sad or repellant. The drivers of the coaches 



256 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

do not have yards of crape hung from their hats like great 
streamers. They wear black cocked hats, bordered with white ; 
and while solemn in ai:)pearance and demeanor, are not so in an 
offensive sense. As the procession moves along nobody regards 
it with horror or loathing, or rushes up a by-street to escape 
meeting it. On the contrary, everybody sees it without fear. As 
it goes by the women cross themselves and the men lift their hats 
with reverence. 

Of course, there is nothing new in these customs, and I men- 
tion them not as novelties, but simply in order to secure a contrast 
between English and French qualities. 

Quite as marked as anything else is the difference in sobriety. 
One never sees a drunken Frenchriian, while in London the 
spectacle of a man or woman in a state of disgusting intoxica- 
tion is of common occurrence. In the latter city, one sees not 
merely a man or woman in a condition of inebriety, but one sees 
them in droves. A woman standing up at a bar and pouring 
down gin or whisky, is something never seen here. Women do 
frequent the cafes ; but they sit down at a table, either in the 
room or on the sidewalk, and leisurely sip coffee or cheap wines. 
They are always at least clean, never quarrelsome ; and as little 
like the women of the English lower classes as can be imagined. 
Nor does one meet in Paris the vile smoking habits which one 
encounters everywhere in England. Nearly every Parisian of 
the male sex smokes— and so perhaps do many of the other sex — 
but it is rarely anything other than a cigar or cigarette. The 
atrocious " shag " with which our English cousins perfume them- 
selves and their surroundings would turn the delicate stomach 
of a Parisian, and drive him into incurable insanity. 

If the incessant use of cold water — except for drinking pur- 
poses — be a virtue, then the English are not only virtuous beyond 
Frenchmen, but beyond all others. An Englishman must have 
his cold bath every morning. Not only this, but he must inform 
some of his acquaintances during each day something about his 
bath — the a being sounded like a in all. " The bath was quite 
cold this morning," is a bit of information which nearly every 
Englishman is almost certain to communicate to each of his 
acquaintances between the hours of bathing and bedtime. 

The thing goes even further than this. I do not recall many 
English novels of a modern date in which it is not stated that the 
hero takes a cold bath winter and summer upon getting out of 



ENGLISH AND FRENCH. 



257 



bed. Even George Eliot did not omit to hint that Gwendolyn was 
in the habit of taken a cold dip each morning before going forth 
to play roulette, or hunt a husband having, not youth or sense, 
but wealth and "good form." 

In a late English novel occurs the extraordinary assertion in 
regard to something or somebody that it was a " platter clean on 
the outside but inside full of dead men's bones." I am appre- 
hensive that the something which was in the mind of the author 
applies in a limited degree to the French. Public and private 




A FRENCH BATH-TUB. 



bathing establishments — hot, cold, swimming, Turkish, Russian — 
meet one at every step in London. Here, such establishments 
are as scarce as powder magazines are said to be in Hades. I 
suppose a Frenchman would reply to this that if the English 
have so many more bathing places, it is because they impera- 
tively need them. However, I am not prepared to accept this 
explanation. The houses of the better classes are badly venti- 
17 



258 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

lated, the drainage is imperfect, and there is a very general and 
careless mixing up of kitcliens and water-closets. The construc- 
tion of batli-rooms in private houses, so far as I have seen, does 
not generally prevail. Water is so scarce and dear, that the 
amount allowed one for lavatory purposes scarcely amounts to 
much more tlian a teacupful. Under such circumstances a 
French wash is little more than a dry scrub. At none of the 
cafes or restaurants are there any of the convenient lavatories or 
water-closets wliich are to be found in connection with every eat- 
ing-house of any pretensions in London. 

And yet, on the surface, the people on the streets have no ap- 
peai'ance of uncleanliness. Every French woman, in walking, 
manages to display some portion of her under-clotliing, and it is 
never bedraggled or soiled. As washing is done in tlie Seine, as 
a general thing, and the water tliere is plentiful, there is no 
excuse for dirty linen; but the case seems quite different so far 
as cleanliness of person, apartments, and the like are concerned. 

While Americans may be justly regarded as extravagant in 
their expenditures when compared with the English, the latter 
may be looked upon as la,vish in their outlay when compared 
with the French. An ordinary French family will live luxuri- 
ously upon what an English, but more especially an American, 
family habitually wastes. 

There is a market here known as the " Harlequin Market," at 
which are offered for sale all the scraps left at the restaurants 
and cafes. Nothing is wasted. The stub of a cigar, on the side- 
walk, is speedily fished up, and carried off by some prowling 
mendicant, or by a person who will sell it to a manufactory 
where it will be made over into smoking tobacco. 

A Paris dandy buys a pair of new gloves. A majority of 
people who buy gloves do so for the purpose of wearing them. 
So does he, in time, but not at the moment. He buys his gloves, he 
thrusts them into the breast of his buttoned coat so that the ends 
hang out, and display their newness. He then goes about bare- 
handed, but always the new gloves showing themselves to the 
world. His make-up is an assertion, "You see, cher public, 
that the reason of my not wearing gloves is not that I haven't got 
any. I just bought these around the corner, and shall put them 
on in a few minutes." And yet I have seen the same chap wear- 
ing the same gloves out on his breast, promenading the Boule- 
vard des Italiens for the last ten daj's. It is no certain thing that 



EXPOSITION NOTES. 259 

lie lias not worn the same pair of gloves in the same place for 
the last two years. 

Frenchmen are not ashamed to be economical in public. Yes- 
terday afternoon I was sitting under the awning of the Cafe de 
la Paix. A smart shower suddenly opened its sluices on the 
throng of pedestrians. Happening to loolc across the Place de 
rOpera, my eye was caught by two Frenchmen who were trying 
their best to squeeze themselves under a small umbrella. It was 
no use, it would do indifferently well even for one, but not at all 
for two. Sometliing must be done, and something was done. 
One of the men took off liis silk hat — a brand new one — and 
handed it to the other. The latter put the hat well up under the 
umbrella, and then the other stepped out in the pouring rain. 
Thus the two walked along — the one witli tlie umbrella and his 
friend's hat, the other bare-headed in the pelting shower. He 
knew the rain would not hurt his head or his coat, but would 
ruin his hat. He preferred the ducking to the loss of his beaver. 



LETTER XL. 

EXPOSITION NOTES. 




Pakis, May 9, 1878. 

NYBODY who enjoys a crowd can have all the fun he 
wishes for in Paris at the present time. The hotels are 
so full that the heads and feet of the guests bulge out 
through every opening. The restaurants are so jammed that 
only thirty-four per cent, of the mob have places to eat, while 
the other sixty-six per cent, look on pcrspiringly and wait their 
turn to snatch a place and a dirty napkin. 

The person who enjoys a crowd cannot but be hilarious all the 
time. If he wishes to sit down at a cafe he finds all the seats 
taken. If he desires to go anywhere by a 'bus or street-car, and 
goes to any of the stopping places, there are always from one 
hundred and fifty to eight hundred and seventy-five there in 
advance of him. If he go to a railway station to buy a ticket 
anywhere, he finds a queue that reaches at least two squares. If 



260 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

he conclude to take a voiture, lie discovers that every one of these 
vehicles is engaged, and that the street is lined for blocks with 
other anxious ones, who are frantically shaking their umbrellas, 
and vainly, at every passing hack. At the Exposition all the 
seats are taken, all the boxes occupied, all the desirable sights 
surrounded by an impenetrable throng. He can't get into a 
church, a monument, or anywhere else, because, go as often and 
early as he will, the mob has gone earlier and oftener. 

But if a person doesn't like a mob, then he won't enjoy Paris 
just now. He is thrust off the sidewalks. He is everlastingly 
dodging millions of rushing vehicles at the crossings. He 
wanders about all day, seeking vainly a place of rest, and if 
he stop to lean against a tree, he hears, in common with other 
weary vagabonds, the eternal monotone of sergents de villa, 
" Circulez, Messieurs! " When he gets home — if he be fortunate 
enough to have secured a kennel in the seventh story which he 
may call "home " — at midnight, he has on his body the impres- 
sions of thousands of elbows and umbrellas, and . on his feet in- 
dentations from half the shoes, hob-nailed or otherwise, of Paris. 

The only true way to enjoy Paris just now by a New Yorker 
or Chicagoan is for him to stay at home and read the accounts, 
such as are furnished by your correspondent and other dmes 
damndes condemned to stay a while in this terrestrial enfer. If a 
man will come and can arrange it, he will do well to bring his 
own carriage, provisions, seats, benches, beds, house, lot, barn- 
yard, and front garden, with a few plats of grass, beds of flowers, 
and shade trees to make things pleasant and give them a decora- 
tive, home-like appearance. 

Our Americans are immense " on French " — at least a major- 
ity of them insist that they are. Ask any of them if they speak 
French, and the invariable reply is, " Oh, yes. Don't have any 
trouble — get along first rate." I need scarcely say that many of 
them are mistaken in their estimate of their own abilities in this 
direction. 

There is, among my American acquaintances, an American 
"colonel "and liis family — wife, son and daughter. They all 
speak French — pure American French with the genuine western 
accent, and the true star-spangled idiom. They have apartments 
rented from a French lady and her daughter, both the latter be- 
ing of the educated class, and neither of them speaking a word 
of English. 



EXPOSITION NOTES. 261 

Last night I dropped in on the colonel. Both families were 
gatliered in the grand salon, and were having a breezy chat in 
the purest French. It was on the comparative difficulty of ac- 
quiring the French and English languages. By-and-by, madame, 
the wife of the colonel, ventured an opinion : 

" La plus grande difflculte en Franjais est le gendre, n'est 
pas?" 

The landlady looked puzzled and astounded. The young 
French lady seemed puzzled and immensely amused. 

" Comment? Le gendre ? " 

Then there were mutual inquiries and explanations, and finally 
it came to be understood that Mrs. Colonel meant to ask if gen- 
der is not the most difficult thing in French; but in place of 
using the word genre for gender, she used the word gendre, which 
means — son-in-law. The confusion of madame and the amuse- 
ment of her daughter were now easily understood. 

Scarcely had the American matron been raised out of the pit- 
fall when the colonel tumbled into one with most surprising 
alacrity. There was a little merriment over Mrs. Colonel's blun- 
der, of which tbe colonel, in a true marital spirit, undertook to 
-avail himself 

"Ah," said he, pointing to his wife, "Elle est sage-femme, sans 
doute!" 

Mam'selle blushed, and looked as if she would like to leave the 
room. 

"Mais, Monsieur," said the lady of the house, "Madame n'est 
pas accoucheuse ? " 

It took some little time to convince the colonel that, instead of 
speaking of his spouse as a modest, excellent woman, he had sim- 
ply termed her a midwife. 

And this was not enough. The budding youth who hailed the 
colonel as father had been in another room, writing a note. It 
was one which he wished to send to a young lady, an American 
acquaintance who was attending the same school with mademoi- 
selle; and he approached the daughter to ask her if she would 
deliver it. 

" Pardong, Mam'selle Esthere," said he, "voulez vous apporter 
pour moi Une billy doux ? " 

" Monsieur ?" responded the demoiselle, interrogatively. 

"Voulez vous apporter pour moi une billy doux?" re- 
peated he. 



262 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

She pondered the matter a moment, then seemed to compre- 
hend. 

"Oui! oui! certainment! un balaidoux!" She rushed from 
the room, and in a moment returned with a feather-duster — the 
balai doux whicli she supposed the youtli was in need of. 

These actually occurred all within the space of ten minutes, 
and are simply representative cases of others. They serve to 
give an idea of how our natives get along in "wrastling" with 
the langue Fran5aise. 

It should be stated that, whenever an American comes here 
he is always immediately taken in tow by some other Amer- 
ican. The latter patronizes the new-comer. He takes the 
late arrival to a cafe, calls " gargong ! " in a very imperative and 
easy tone, and orders : " Ung tasse cafe," or "petty verre cogniac 
poor doo," in a style as if French were his native language and 
he never had spoken any other. It is just the same if the veteran 
has been on French soil only twenty-four hours. He always 
patronizes the next American who comes. He assumes that the 
other fellow doesn't know the language, and takes charge of him 
as if he were a new infant. 

That is what the colonel has been doing to me. He has in- 
vited me to drink more than a hundred times, so he could show 
me how he could " sling " French at a gargon. He has invited 
me to ride so that I could hear him tell the cocher : " Ally o roo- 
Vang Katter September." It paid me, after a fashion, to be 
patronized, and asked to take rides, drinks, and things, and so I 
didn't object. I began to notice, however, that he never asked 
me to dinner. 

Yesterday I happened to pass a little restaurant on a street just 
off the Boulevard des Capucines. It was about dinner time; the 
asparagus and meats in the window looked clean and cool. I 
was hungry and I popped in. Climbing the escalier I entered a 
small room, to which I was attracted by the loud tones of what 
seemed a familiar voice. At a snug table in one corner was 
seated the substantial form of the colonel, whose bald head I at 
once recognized. His back was toward me, he had a napkin un- 
der his chin, and he was giving his order to a waiter in unmis- 
takable English, and the latter was making i-esponses and sug- 
gestions in the same language. As soon as the waiter left, I 
"went around and took a seat at the colonel's table. When he saw 



EXPOSITION NOTES. 263 

me his pnrj^le visage turned a greenisli white. I had caught him 
at it. He was dining at a place where Englisli was spoken ! 

" Never was in this place before," he said, trying to hide his 
confusion. Just then the waiter entered with a half bottle of 
wine. 

" This is what you left over at dinner yesterday, colonel," said 
the waiter as he put down the bottle. The colonel glared at him 
with an expression of mute but frightful indignation. I was 
sorry for the colonel, and pretended not to notice the painful in- 
cident. 

After dinner we strolled off for a little exercise. We went up 
one street and down another, discussing Chicago and St. Louis — 
the colonel is from St. Louis — until we discovered we were lost. 

" Ask a sergent de ville, colonel." said L 

" I'll do it." 

A moment later we met one of these vigilant guardians of the 
peace. 

"Pardung, Musseer," said the colonel, with his politest bow; 
" Vully-vous nous montray the — the — h — 1 and damnation ! " 

"What's the matter, colonel?" 

" I am trying to think of a word. Oh, d — n it, what is it? " 

"Perhaps I can aid you. What is it? " 

" Head station." 

"Tete de ligne, is it?" 

" Oh, yes, that's it. Vully-vous nous montray the tete de ligne 
doo tramway poor Vincennes ? " 

" Oui ! oui ! " said the policeman. And then he shot himself 
off, and began vomiting French with a rapidity and a splendor 
only equaled by the eruptions of a Roman candle. We were to 
go down six streets, then go, a gauche, nine streets, go up an 
alley, cross five places, turn short around to the right, and then 
keep on straight ahead. The colonel listened to every word. He 
smiled appreciatively, nodded incessantly, and said " Oui ! oui ! " 
as fast as he could get the breath to do it. We both said " Merci," 
and touched our hats to the sergent de ville, as he finished, and 
then turned away. 

" What did he say, colonel ? " I asked. 

" D — d if I know ! " answered the colonel, with an air of su- 
preme disgust. 

And then he opened on the French in true western style. He 
was mad. He swore worse than the army in Flanders. " Why 



264 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 



in blank don't they speak a decent language ? Aug! ang! ang! " 
said he, driving the air at fifty-liorse-power pressure through his 
nose, in trying to imitate the French nasal sound. " It's all ang! 
Blank 'em to blank and blanknation, why don't they speak En- 
glish, like Christians! A lot of blank grinning, chattering, bob- 
bing monkeys, blank 'em, with their blasted blank ang — ang — 



ang 



I let the colonel run till he ran down. We found the tete de 
ligne, and he went home. But he won't ask me to take any more 




A COLOSSAIi IMPOSTER. 

drinks or drives with him. Pie knows that he stands revealed as 
a colossal impostor. I've heard the last of his French and had 
the last of his patronage. 

The colonel, I may say, not only exists as I have described him, 
but he stands as a representative of any number of Americans. 

When I got over to the so-called exposition yesterday, I found 
an addition had been made to the American department. Sev- 
eral marines in full uniform guarded the approaches to the rooms 



EXPOSITION NOTES. 265 

of the American commissioner. Two or three federal officers, in 
the gayest of uniforms, were buzzing about, as gorgeous in hue 
and as busy as bottle-flies. Passing by the sentries, I entered the 
private room of the commissioner. There was an unusual crowd. 
In the further corner stopd General Noyes, the American arnbas- 
sador. To his right was Commissioner McCormick. Between 
them was a short, thick-set man, with a close-clipped beard and 
mustache, and upon whose swollen, pufiy features there prevailed 
a sullen expression of indifference. People were walking up and 
shaking hands with the man in the corner, the man with the 
swollen features and the sullen expression. I followed suit. 

" Glad to see you looking so well and stout, General," said I. 
" You have not changed since we fought together from Belmont 
to Vicksburg." 

He looked at me with a cold, fishy stare. He shook my hand 
as if it had been a chunk of cold meat. He made not the slight- 
est reply to my genial allusion to our campaign experience. 

Which, I take it, was very unkind on the part of Gen. Grant. 

After everybody had had a shake, the General opened his 
mouth for the first time. It was to put in a half smoked cigar, 
which he had been holding in his left hand. Then a little pro- 
cession was organized. Noyes and two or three other dignitaries 
went ahead. Then came Grant. After him fifteen or twenty no- 
bodies-in-particular. In this order, and gazed at by a curious 
mob, the procession moved about. 

I could not help but be pleased with the interest Grant showed 
in everything. He moved by cases of silk, lines of sewing ma- 
chines, bundles of hemp, machines for boring and machines for 
not boring, with the same expression. He never turned his head. 
His eyes wandered from side to side ; and these, with his legs, 
seemed the only movable things about him. All the rest of him 
appeared to be fixed, joiutless, immovable. 

After the General had walked about for an hour, and not seen 
anything, and been all around and apparently had taken the 
slightest interest in nothing, he was marched back to the pressed- 
meat, leaf lard and pickle-department of the American section. 

Here a most complete collation had been improvised under the 
management of some patriotic and thouglitful Yankees. Two 
large, impromptu tables had been constructed from boxes covered 
with boards. Upon these were canned meats, and poultry, 
peaches peers pickled oysters, bottled beer, champagne ad lib- 



266 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

itum, strawberries, everything wholesome and delicious. The 
Frencli and American press had been invited, and these, with the 
rest, made up a party of a couple of hundreds. Grant took one 
end of the table and General Noyes the other. A party named 
Woods said grace, that is to say, he addressed a very eulogistic 
speech to General Grant, to all of which the ex-President listened 
— if he listened at all— without looking at the speaker, and 
without the smallest change of countenance. When he finished. 
Grant made a reply by harpooning a weighty piece of corned 
beef, which he had dexteriously trausfei'red to his plate and half 
swallowed before the roar of the three cheers and a tiger which 
followed Woods' speech had ceased to vibrate the iron arches of 
the roof. Then the General's jaws opened and shut after a fash- 
ion which satisfied me that they were not locked. A processiou 
of beef, poultry, champagne, pears, strawberries, champagne, 
bread, peaches, champagne, and along with all some more cham- 
pagne, entered the cavity which yawned and closed in his face — 
entered and disappeared in quantities that somehow reminded 
me of the manner in which he sent in the reserves at the battles. 
of the Wilderness. 

All the time the feed was in progress, a curious crowd pressed 
around the outskirts of the area protected by the bayonets of the 
marines. I am satisfied they did not understand it at all. Never- 
theless, thene was one good eflfect, for, during the hour so de- 
voted to demolishing the edibles and absorbing the potables, the 
American section was crowded as it was never crowed before. 

To-day the United States had an addition to its exhibit 
which attracted more attention in the course of half an hour 
than anything which has yet appeared. It was Albert Edward 
and Alexandrina — otherwise the Prince, and Princess of Wales. 
In French he is the Prince of Galles — which some wretched 
punster, in view of the Prince's reputation, will at once twist 
into the Prince of Gals. If so, I absolve myself in advance from 
complicity in any such atrocity. 

Could the Prince be kept in the American department, there 
would be a permanent remedy for the paucity of visitors and 
their languid interest in our exhibition. Of course, in the mob 
which environed their royal highnesses on yesterdsy, every Yan- 
kee in the American department was to be found. He pushed 
himself as closely as possible to the royal pair ; and, in several 
cases, made desperate efforts to shake hands with Albert. That 



EXPOSITION NOTES. 267 

didn't work, however, except in the case of Commissioner Mc- 
Cormick, who managed to extract a square shake from the Prince 
and a bow and smile from Alexandrina. 

The coviple went througli and created a much more favorable 
impression than did Caesar Grant. He either didn't see anything 
or pretended tliat he didn't, and went through witliout the sliglit- 
est exhibition of curiosity or interest of any kind. The Prince 
was polite, smiling, interested. He stepped inside the railings 
of several of the exhibitors, asked questions, examined goods, 
and appeared to be as anxious to seem interested as Grant was to 
seem stolid and indifferent. The fine display of the "Waltham 
Watch Company occupied the attention of tlie royal couple for 
some minutes, and they examined with much curiosity the work- 
manship of several watches shown them by a polite attendant. 
When they left this case of goods, the Prince lifted his hat, as I 
noticed he did in every instance when he asked any questions.. 

Fancy Mr. Grant lifting his hat to an attendant ! 

Fancy even Mr. Grant having enough interest to ask a ques 
tion; but more especially asking one of an attendant. 

The Prince and Princess spent half an hour in the American 
department. They noticed everything, and stopped for some 
time to admire an exquisite collection of photographs of babies, 
arranged and sent over by Smith, a photographer on North Clark 
street, Chicago. They took in the dental display, Tiffanj's col- 
lection, everything, in short, of interest ; and then left with many 
a polite adieu to the gentlemen who had escorted them through 
the department. I fancy that, could there be a vote taken among 
those Americans who were present, as to their preference for 
Grant or the Prince for the next President, the latter would go in 
by an almost unanimous majority. 

For the benefit of the lady readers of Tlie Times, I will state 
that Alexandrina is a lady of medium height, slender figure, 
rather brunette as to complexion, has large, dark, handsome eyes, 
a prominent nose, and a small mouth, with thin lips. She wore a 
quiet hat, turned up on the side, and a dark dress, of some plain 
material. She has a very intelligent, vivacious, sympathetic face ; 
and so far as her expression is concerned, there is no contradic- 
tion to the assertion I have often heard, to-wit, that she is the 
most popular and most generally-loved woman in Great Britain. 
As for the Prince, he went away leaving everybody convinced 
that, however much a Prince he may be, his salient and most no- 



268 SKETCHES BEVOND THE SEA. 

ticeable points are those of — a gentleman. If there are no rea- 
sons, constitutional or otherwise, why a Prince cannot be a gen- 
tleman, I can't see why the same cannot be true of an ex-President. 



LETTER XLI. 

AN EXCURSION PARTY. 

On-the-Wing, June 7, 1878. 

fT is something over two weeks since your correspondent 
mailed his last letter to TJie Times. The interregnum is a 
long one, and probably has given the readers of that sheet a 
much-needed rest. There may be too much, even, of a good 
thing; and hence the vacation enjoyed by the patrons of Chi- 
cago's greatest journal has not been an undesirable one. 

The exposition was dragging dreadfully. It was a display as 
much of boxes as of contents. There was more to break the 
shins than please the eyes of a spectator; as much to ruffle tem- 
pers as to gratify artistic tastes. Hence, it was thought best to 
intermit writing about the exposition till there is something 
more than chaos to write about. Mud, slush, debris, litter, and 
the like, are not pleasant or profitable themes for a long series of 
letters. One who is fairly gifted with genius and imagination 
can say all there can be said about such things in half a dozen 
communications of an average length. Having written this num- 
ber, it seemed to me well to " let up " on the exposition until 
there should be an exhibition of something besides confusion 
and unreadiness. 

Meanwhile your correspondent has been investigating other 
fields. In two weeks he has traveled much, although perhaps 
he may have seen but little. It has been said of a distinguished 
American traveler, now Minister at a foreign court, that he has 
" traveled more and seen less than any other man in the world." 
One can't see everything in two weeks ; but such few things as 
have been seen by the present writer he will endeavor to lay 
before the clientele of The. Times. 

So far as the correspondent and the readers of The Tim^s are 



AN EXCURSION PAETT. 269 

concerned, it is a transaction in which the latter have all the best 
of it. They can sit comfortably at home and have an excursion 
in addition. They can take in half or more of Europe without 
a vexation or an annoyance. For them only clear skies and ge- 
nial airs. For them no aching bones from long railway travel ; 
no dust ; no cinders or smoke from wheezing locomotives. They 
will escape the taste of vinegary wines ; no cold winds howling 
down from snow-clad mountain-tops will freeze their marrow. 
They will have no "rows" with porters and hackmen; they will 
avoid the exactions of hotel-keepers, and thieves in other dis- 
guises who infest every highway and by-way of Europe. Upon 
them will pour no pelting rains. They will roam in eternal sun- 
shine, incumbered with no baggage, bespattered by no mud, com- 
pelled to spealj no language but their own, and take in Europe 
with feet on fender, cigar in mouth, and contentment blossoming 
all over their countenances. 

As for me, in reference to my part in the transaction, I can 
only say — au contraire. 

There was a little party of pilgrims who went forth to do Eu- 
rope, or who, I may say, are doing Europe; for although in 
Paris to-day, it is only for a rest, and in a little time they will 
resume their pilgrim staves and journey. There were, or are, 
four of them. One of them is a gentleman, white as to hair, 
erect as to figure, distinguished as to appearance, and who is so 
well known in Chicago that of him I need give no further par- 
ticulars. Him shall I term " The Commander," because for 
many years he has been in the van of a great public and private 
enterprise, and from that point has exercised the supervision and 
authority of leader. Then there is one whom I shall designate 
as "Madame" — a lady of artistic instincts, keen as to observa- 
tion, and hunting always for rifts in clouds through which to 
catch glimpses of sunshine. And next there is, in many respects, 
the most notable member of the party, to-wit, a descendant of a 
long line of Senegambian Princes, but who was born and reared on 
American soil, and who, nobly superior to misfortune, blacks 
boots and brushes coats as if he were only the commonest of 
clay. Quite dark is he as to complexion, a trifle thick as to lip, 
and pronouncedly kinky as to covering of skull. In Germany 
he was known as "Herr Schwartze;" in Switzerland and Bel- 
gium he was styled " Monsieur Lenoir." In a confidential com- 
munication made to me one evening, I learned that he repudiates 



270 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

emphatically being what is commonly termed a " nigger," but 
chooses rather to euphemistically class himself as a "shade." 
So be it, and henceforth The Shade be the designation of the 
dark descendant of the princely Senegambian line. 

And, finally, there is another of this quartet who, although 
not a French citizen, may be known as Soussigne, and who here- 
after in these narrations shall travel under this Gallic pseudonym. 

What these four have seen, where they saw it, and what they 
thouglit about it, and such other germane facts and incidents as 
have presented themselves, will form the topics of a few letters. 

It is nearly three weeks ago that the four were assembled in a 
room in the Westminster Palace Hotel, London. Tlie Com- 
mander, with a pair of long-range spectacles on forehead, and a 
pair of short-range glasses astride his nose, was engaged in por- 
ing over an immense guide-book. The Madame, in an elegantly- 
trimmed morning wrapper, toyed languidly with a bit of Gruyere, 
and pensively awaited coming developments. The Shade was in 
a corner, pretendedly gazing out of the window, but in reality 
keeping a surreptitious, albeit a severe, watch upon a couple of 
bottles of porter which had come up with the luncheon, and the 
while speculating as to the probability of there remaining for 
him a drink of respectable dimensions. Soussigne — who is a 
tremendous smoker — sat on the sofa, and listened, while an 
.imdercurrent of thouglit bore along noiseless conjectures as to 
when he could slip away, and burn a choice cigar which he 
twirled lovingly in his fingers. 

" We have now," said The Commander, in his deep, emphatic 
voice, as he looked up from the book and beamed upon the party, 
" some nine or ten weeks to dispose of. The question is, Where 
shall we go?" 

" I favor Paris," said Madame. Soussigne ventured no opinion. 
The Shade took advantage of the moment, and silently moved the 
half-consumed bottles of porter from the table to the side-board. 

"What we should do," continued the Commander, "is to put 
in these weeks to the best advantage. We must combine a pur- 
suit of health and pleasure with a pursuit after information. 
We should go where there is the most to be seen within the 
smallest space of time and under the most enjoyable circum- 
stance. The only question is, How can this be accomplished ? " 

" There is so much to be seen in Paris," said Madame, gently. 
" It will take weeks and weeks to see all the picture galleries, the 



AN EXCURSION PARTY. 271 

statuary, the monuments, palaces, and groves, and other things 
of interest." 

The Commander thought Paris should be seen, of course, but 
later. Soussigne's opinion was invited. 

" I do think," said that individual, deftly steering between 
Scylla and Charybdis, so as not to collide with either, " that you 
are right, and so is Madame. Paris is the world. One who goes 
to Paris and studies it thoroughly can study all nations and all 
products. It is a microcosm. At the same time, you are right 
in the suggestion that we should hunt up new and enjoyable 
routes. My idea would be that, in order to carry out the plan, 
we should spend our nine weeks as follows : Two weeks in Lon- 
don; then three weeks could be devoted to Belgium, Norway, 
Sweden, Holland, Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Italy; after 
which the other four weeks should be spent in Paris. This, I 
fancy, would be a very sensible division of time." 

" A capital suggestion ! " said Madame. " Only don't you think 
we are giving more time to the other places than is necessary, 
and that we might cut them down a little so as to devote niore 
time to Paris? Two weeks, to be sure, is not too much for 
London, but how about the time for those other places? " 

" There are," said The Commander, " hundreds of old cathe- 
drals and castles in England which are worth a journey half 
around the globe to see, and which few or none of the rushing 
hordes of tourists ever care to visit. Here is the old home of the 
Warwicks, the king-makers of English history, for instance. 
Who knows anything about them? There is the armor to be 
seen of the gigantic earls so well known in history. Here may 
also be seen the ' Warwick Vase ' found in Adrian's villa at 
Tivoli. Here is the magnificent Castle of Warwick, with all its 
curious relics and its inspiring historical reminiscences. Close 
by it is the Castle of Kenilworth, which Scott has immortalized 
in his novel. Within a few miles of these castles is Shakspeare's 
birth-place, Stratford-upon-Avon, and also the church in which 
he is buried. All these are within a circuit of less than a dozen 
miles in diameter. Now, is it not more sensible to visit such 
spots as these than to rush off to Paris with its tropical heats, its 
mobs of visitors, its discomforts and inconvenience? Let us go 
where we shall have rest, not excitement." 

" How would it do," asked Soussigne, " to take the two weeks 
from London, and one from Holland, Germany, etc., and devote 



272 SKETCHES UEYOND THE SEA. 

them to such visits in England as you speak of? This would 
give three weeks ; and one can see a great deal in three weeks if 
one is only active and stirring." 

" Yes," said Madame, " I like that suggestion, only wouldn't it 
be better to give five weeks to English country places ? The other 
week of the four could be " 

" Added to the time at Paris, you are about to say," interrupted 
The Commander. "No," continued he, "now this is exactly 
what M'e will do ; it is rainy and cold in England, and it is now 
fairly comfortable on the continent. In a few weeks it will be 
more pleasant here, and less pleasant, on account of the heat, on 
the continent. We will therefore leave here to-morrow. We will 
give say five weeks to countries outside of France. Then one 
week in Paris — which will be more than ample — and the re- 
maining three weeks in England and Scotland." 

As these last utterances of The Commander wei'e given in an 
emphatic manner, it did not appear to his auditory that there 
was any chance for argument. Madame said, " Oh, very well ! " 
while Soussigue contented himself with "Certainly;" and then 
the council of war came to an end. 

When Soussigne left the room, he was followed closely by The 
Shade, who had a very large swelling within his coat beneath 
each arm. Soussigne wished to ask the Senegambian some ques- 
tions in regard to his royal ancestry, but the latter evidently had 
a pressing engagement somewhere below, for he declined to be 
social, and at once hurried away. 



LETTER XLII. 



GETTING OFF. 

On-the-Wing, June 10, 1878. 



tHE next morning after the council of war — whose proceed- 
ings were given at length in my last letter — that section 
of London lying between Paddington and Regent's Park 
might have seen a somewhat novel spectacle. That is to say, the 
people of that section might, had they been out of their bed3» 



GETTING OFF. 



273 



But they were not. It was too early — not yet more than half- 
past six. Only the garden carts were astir, and a few working- 
men who were hurrying along, or who stopped for a moment to 
swallow a cup of coffee at the stands of the all-night street mer- 
chants. 

The spectacle in question was that of a medium-sized man sit- 
ting on the curb-stone, and alternately d — ning his eyes, and a big 
hand-bag that lay in front of him. He was waiting for a cab, a 




A CARPET-BAGGER. 

cart, anything. He had the hand-bag, which was as large as a 
Saratoga trunk, and weighed a ton; an umbrella, a cane, an over- 
coat, a duster, a box of cigars, a small traveling-bag, a field-glass, 
a portfolio containing materials for correspondence, a hat-box, 
and a few other trifles. It was our new acquaincance Soussigne, 
who was trying to reach an underground station, so as to get to 
Charing Cross, where he was to meet the rest of the party. It 
was no job for a Christian, because no Christian could have stood 
the pressure of the occurrence without a display of temper which 
18 



274 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

would have cost him his standing in any respectably-orthodox 
religious denomination. 

No hansom or " crawler " came along. They never do except 
when not wanted. No small boys turned up begging to assist in 
carrying the luggage. They never do except when not needed. 
It was half a mile to the station, and there were fifteen minutes to 
get there in. Waiting was no good ; and Soussigne had to march. 
Taking the big hand-bag in one hand, the 1; it-box in the other, 
putting a cane and umbrella under one arm, the box of cigars 
under, and the overcoat and duster on, the other arm, he took up 
his line of march. First the umbrella tipped down one way and 
then the cane tipped up the other. In trying to catch them the 
overcoat fell off, and the duster got tangled up with his legs. 
"When everything was in order, and he would get started, his hat 
would work down over his nose, obliging him to stop and unload 
in order to adjust it. It was hot — the only hot morning they 
have had in Great Britain since last July. The perspiration 
poured out like young rivers. No one hand and arm could carry 
the bag more than ten feet at a time, and hence he had to change 
every few seconds. This involved switcliing the box of cigars, 
moving the cane and umbrella, rebalancing the overcoat and 
duster, and bringing the hat-box and other fixtures into new po- 
sitions. 

But why prolong this agonizing recital ? SuflBce it that, with 
botli hands raw, backbone cracked through at three joints, and 
remedilessly bent out of shape in several other places, he caught 
the underground, and, ten minutes before train time, he was de- 
posited in Charing Cross station. 

The others came soon after. The Commander, albeit a trifle 
lame, came up smiling ; and beamed as benevolently through his 
gold-rimmed glasses as if /he were disposed to take the whole 
world to his bosom. The Madame was radiant. The Shade 
staggered along with four umbrellas, some maps. The Com- 
mander's water-proof overcoat, a couple of guide-books, and five 
satchels of varying dimensions. In order to make it as interest- 
ing as possible for the Senegambian, Soussigne handed over his 
few eff"ects to that person, with the result that he was so envel- 
oped and covered up with satchels and things that there was but 
little of him visible except his lips in front and his heels behind. 

A little later and the train went hissing over the iron bridge 
across the Thames, ran into and backed out of Cannon-street 



GETTING OFF. 275 

Station ; and then went roaring and rattling over the roofs of tlie 
houses to the southeast. The alto-relief of the millions of chim- 
ney-pots grew flatter ; the steeples became shorter and shorter ; 
the great dome of St. Paul sank into the horizon ; and, next, the 
train was flying between the trim hedges, the grassy slopes and 
quaint farm-houses of the open country. 

"Ah me!" sighed the Madame, after a long look at the glo- 
rious panorama that flew by, " how very lovely is the English 
country ! It is everywhere a picture." 

" Yes," said The Commander, " it is very charming; but what 
strikes me most forcibly is tlie extraordinaiy neatness everywhere 
visible, and the evidences of economical management. Tliere is 
no litter or waste anywhere — no rotting hay-stacks, no tumble- 
down fences, no out-houses in ruins. Every inch of land seems 
to be utilized. While we can teach tliese people many things, 
they can teach us something more valuable than everything else, 
and that is the meaning and worth' of economy." 

"Yes," said Soussigne, " the Britishers are a most economical 
people, especially in manners in public. I never knew any peo- 
ple so saving in this respect. The only extravagance they in- 
dulge in is in the size of their feet. However," he proceeded to 
say, with an apologetic sort of an air, " they may be saving as to 
manners and extravagant as to feet, yet they are a grand people 
commercially, financially, historically. Except, perhaps, in the 
matter of certain departments of art, and in invention, they are 
the foremost nation in existence. But" — and this he muttered 
almost inaudibly — " d — n their self-conceit, their arrogance, and 
their egotism!" 

The Commander soon after gave the party a very interesting 
comparison of British and American forms of government, whose 
main feature was a strong leaning in favor of the system of min- 
isterial responsibility. It was a terse, strongly-worded statement ; 
and abounded with apt illustrations and pertinent historical 
facts. As a whole, The Commander seemed of the opinion that 
America has much to learn in ihe matter of government from the 
English. 

Dover was duly reached. Its vast cliffs of chalk excited Mad- 
ame's artistic admiration, and she said she would make a sketch 
of the harbor as soon as she reached the boat. She would have 
done so except for the little circumstance that, upon getting 
aboard, she discovered that she had neither pencil nor paper. 



276 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Besides this difficulty, in a little while she concluded that she 
was tired, and it would be much nicer to go below and lie down. 
The Shade soon after followed Madame, carrying a huge wash- 
bowl, although for what purpose — as Madame always averred 
that she was an excellent sailor and never the least bit sick in the 
world — will never be known. Soussigne endeavored to interview 
The Shade behind the smokestack, on the subject, but the Sene- 
gambian was sublimely reticent, and only answered by a grin 
which opened a chasm in his face like the yawn of a hippopot- 
amus. 

"They need a little American ingenuity and enterprise on this 
route," said The Commander, as he made a frantic snatch at the 
bulwarks to save himself from the effects of a sudden lurch; 
" here is a route over which everybody travels, and yet they run 
boats that are about as large as, and have no more accommoda- 
tion for passengers than, a Chicago river tug-boat. If an Amer- 
ican company had this route, it would run the cars on great 
ferry-boats at Dover and transfer them to Calais and Ostend 
without passengers even leaving their seats. It's scandalous — " 

Just here the little tub gave a vicious pitch, and The Com- 
mander, who had incautiously loosened his hold on the bulwarks 
in order to give emphasis by gestures to his remarks, was flung 
half around and tossed backward. Fortunately, a leathern camp- 
stool caught him and saved him from a serious fall. What was 
"scandalous," Soussigne never learned, as The Commander, with 
his back against the wheel-house, and his cane planted firmly on 
the deck, clung tenaciously to his stool during the remainder of 
the voyage, and glared over the little boat in gloomy and con- 
temptuous silence. 

Some six hours after leaving Dover, the boat entered the har- 
bor of Ostend. The Shade was loaded up, and the party pro- 
ceeded to the train which was in waiting a few yards away. 

There is a custom-house at Ostend, which gave our travelers but 
little trouble. The Shade marched up to the platform for the re- 
ception of baggage, and proceeded to place in a row the dozen or 
fifteen packages witli which he was loaded. He then produced a 
bundle of keys about as large as a half-gallon measure, and stood 
awaiting orders. 

'■'Mon Dieu! " was the remark of an astounded green-coated ofll- 
cial, as he ran his eye down the long perspective of parcels, and 
seemingly engaged in a calculation whether he could go through 



GETTING OFF. 



2TT 



the whole in a period much short of six weeks. Soussign6 saw 
his look of dismay, and adroitly took advantage of it: 

"Wovs Ti'avons rien a declarer^ Monsieur^'' he said, politely 
touching his hat to the official. The latter was evidently im- 
pressed with the politeness of Soussigne, as well as the supreme 
honesty which was apparent in his face. 

"Bon!'''' said he, with a relieved air, as he proceeded down the 
line, chalking parcels as he went. Soon after the baggage was 
all aboard, the locomotive whistled, the train rushed out, and, 
half an hour later, was whirling through the lone and dreary 
stretches of northern Belgium. 

" An uninteresting country," said The Commander, as he looked 
from the car-window — " a mere dead level, like an Illinois prai- 
rie, without relief or break, except here and there rows of trees." 

" Ugh ! " said Madame with a shudder, " how desolate ! And 
see, it begins to rain." 

It did rain. Over the low, marsh-like expanse on either side 
came dismal clouds of a grayish black, and settled until they 
seemed to touch the dark surface of the green earth. The drops 
pelted the car-windows, rattled furiously against the roof, and 
splashed into foam the water of the net-work of ditches which 
extended everywhere over the adjacent area. The smoke from 
the locomotive, borne down by the depressing atmosphere, clung 
to the train and enveloped it in a moist and sticky pall. It was 
inexpressibly dreary, desolate, depressing. The Commander was 
overcome by the sinister welcome, and sank back into his seat 
and stared gloomily and weariedly into vacuity. Madame shud- 
deringly pulled her wraps about her and shrank into a corner as 
if to escape the surroundings by retiring within herself. All 
seemed overborne by the sad portents of the first journeyings on 
the continent — all except Soussigne. It was evidently Bous- 
signe's opportunity. Like a great general he seized it. 

"Ostend," said he, "the town which we have just left, is a 
strongly fortified seaport, with seventeen thousand inhabitants. 
It is uninteresting save in August and September, when it has 
crowds of visitors who go there to bathe. It has a sea-wall forty 
feet high, which is used as a promenade. Historically, it is noted 
for its siege by Spinola two hundred and seventy-four years ago, 
when eighty thousand Spaniards and fifty thousand of the 
Ijesieged perished." 

Madame listened languidly. The Commander made no answer, 



278 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA 

as if he thought silence the only proper thing for such a countrjr 
and such weather. But Soussigne was not to be put down. He 
proceeded : 

" We pass through two towns of interest before reaching Brus- 
sels, or Bruxelle, as the natives term it. The first is Bruges. 
Bruges is a city of forty thousand inhabitants, although it once 
had two hundred thousand. It was formerly the commercial 
capital of northern Europe, but now it is of no particular conse- 
quence. Once the richest and the most powerful city in the old 
Flemish league, it has suffered persecution from various causes, 
until it is now scarcely more than a railway station. It has a 
cathedral, some pictures, and a chapel in which is a shrine said 
to contain some of the blood of the Savior." 

"Have you ever been through here before?" asked Madame. 

" No, I never have been," answered Soussigne. 

" It's strange how well informed you are in regard to these 
places — and without ever having seen them! " 

" Oh, a fondness for historical research and a fair memory will 
account for it," said Soussigne, endeavoring to look as if all sucb 
information in his case were a matter of course. 

" What about that other town that you mentioned ? " 

" Oh, you mean Ghent, but which is here known as Gand. 
This town is a walled city, divided by a net-work of canals into 
twenty-six islands. It is known as the ' Manchester of Belgium.* 
It M^as begun eleven hundred years ago, and five hundred years- 
since was lai-ger than Paris. At one time Ghent could put eighty 
thousand armed men into the field. It has had its share of 
trouble, but has managed to retain its prosperity. Charles V. 
was born in Ghent in 1500. It has a cathedral, of course ; some 
very valuable pictures, the remnants of a building in which Joha 
of Gaunt was born; and the Beguinage, an extraordinary place, 
in which live six hundred nuns in separate houses, who have 
taken no vow, and who spend their time in prayer and attending 
the sick. In Ghent, as in every other town in Belgium, lace- 
making forms a principal industry." 

" It was in Ghent," said The Commander, " that the treaty of 
peace between the United States and Great Britain was concluded 
m 1814." 

" How very interesting ! " said Madame. " I can't see how it is- 
possible to remember so many details, especially in regard to 
foreign and remote places of comparative unimportance." 



GETTING OFF. 279 

" It's not very diflflcult to one who is fond of history, and who 
gives more or less time to its study," answered Soussigne, with a 
polite bow, and a pleased expression at Madame's implied 
compliments. 

The train halted at Bruges, and Soussigne went into a smok- 
ing-car to " draw a weed." He lighted a fragrant Havana, manu- 
factured in London, threw himself into a corner, and then smoked, 
at peace with all mankind, including himself. He sat thus for a 
few minutes, and then reached lazily into the breast-pocket of his 
coat in search of something. Whatever it was that he sought, it 
was not there. The look of placid enjoyment on his face sud- 
denly began to change into one of chagrin and anger. He 
rapidly searched all his pockets — nothing ! He looked on the 
floor, under the seats, behind the cushions — nothing ! He fidgeted ; 
he inhaled great volumes of smoke ; he was profane in emphatic 
undertones. When the train halted a moment at some small sta- 
tion, he rushed back to the car containing The Commander and 
Madame. The latter held in her hands a small book with a red 
cover, which she was glancing over with an expression half 
amusement, half sarcasm. 

"You dropped this little book when you went out," she said. 

Soussigne glanced at her sheepishly from the corner of his 
eyes, but said nothing. 

" Here, take it. But no ! I think I'll read you a little. It's 
so interesting ! " 

She began to read : . 

" Ostend is a strongly fortified seaport with seventeen thousand 
inhabitants. It is uninteresting save in August and September, 
when it has crowds of visitors who go there to bathe. It has a 
sea-wall forty feet high, which is used as a promenade," etc. 

Glancing at Soussigne, who was looking somewhere else, 
Madame said: 

"Very interesting, isn't it? And then here is something about 
a place called Bruges, which we have just left. Let me read." 
. She began : 

" Bruges is a city of forty thousand inhabitants, although it 
once had two hundred thousand. It was formerly the commer- 
cial capital of Northern Europe, but now it is of no particular 
consequence. Once the richest and most powerful city in the old 
Flemish league, it has suffered persecution from various quarters 
until it is now scarcely more than a railway station," etc., etc. 



280 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Then Madame turned over^ a few leaves, and, with most ex- 
quisite politeness, said: 

" Here is something about a place called Ghent, but which is 
known as Gand. Let me read: 'The town is a walled city, 
divided by a network of canals into twenty-six islands; it is 
known as the ' Manchester — ' " 

" Oh, dernation ! " muttered Soussigne in an undertone. 

" You have never traveled in this country before, I believe you 
said ? Ah, well, it is astonishing what a fondness for historical 
research and a fair memory will do for a man. Now, isn't it? " 

The Commander had dropped into a doze, and was hearing 
none of this interesting conversation. Soussigne stared sulkily 
out into the rain and pretended to hear nothing. Madame con- 
tinued : 

" It is so easy for one to remember details as to foreign places, 
especially when one is ' fond of history and gives more or less 
time to its study.' So very nice ! Here, take your little guide- 
book. It's a good thing. Don't lose it, or your excellent memory 
as to historical details and all that might fail, you know! '' 

Just here Madame burst into a peal of merry laughter, in which, 
after a vain effort to continue sulky, Soussign6 was compelled to 
join. 

"I give it up, Madame," said he. "Now, if you won't say 
any more about this, I'll show you a shop in Brussels where they 
sell point-lace as cheap as they do second-hand bed-ticking in 
Chicago." 

"All right; it's a bargain," was the reply. 

Peace was concluded. Soussigne put the little book in an 
inside pocket and buttoned it in. A couple of hours later the 
train pulled up in the depot of the Belgium capital. 




SEEING WATERLOO 281 

LETTER XLIII. 

SEEING WATERLOO. 

On-the-Wing, June 13, 1878. 

T a nice, clean hotel in Brussels, in a conservatory used as 
a dining-room, three persons were engaged in dalliance 
with the dessert. A broad shelf which ran around three 
sides of the room was covered with pots of flowers. A subdued 
light came down in floods through the glass roof, and was caught 
by the red and white of blossoms and reflected from the thousand 
angles of the rich ware which loaded the tables. A bottle — an 
empty bottle — covered a half-inch thick with dust, occupied the 
place of honor on the table at which the trio was seated. Some 
glasses of delicate patterns, fragile, and diaphanous as if made of 
sunlight, were there, their rich crystal flecked with the crimson 
life-blood of Bordeaux grapes. 

The Commander, none the worse for his journey, beamed on 
the others with his customary kindliness. Madame was, as usual, 
characterized by a charming repose of manner. The Shade stood 
behind The Commander's chair, and had a far-away look in his 
eyes which bore witness that he was dreaming of his princely 
ancestral line, or else speculating as to the likelihood of his get- 
ting any dinner. Soussigne sat at the table intently listening, 
wondering when he could get away for a smoke, and now and 
then regarding Madame as she adroitly put away a slight yawn 
in her pocket-handkerchief. 

" If this bottle of wine be a fair sample," said The Commander, 
" of the best Bordeaux wines, then I am satisfied we get better 
clarets in America. This wine is crude. It is not ' made.' And 
then look at that. What would you call that? " 

Madame threw a languid glance at the cork which The Com- 
mander held up for examination. Soussigne asked permission 
io examine it more closely, and after having scrutinized it with 
the keenest attention, returned it, saying : 

" Well, if I were put on my oath, I should say that to the best 
of my knowledge and belief that is a cork." 

" It's a cork, of course, but what kind of a cork? The cork is 
something which is rarely deceptive. A good bottle of wine 
never has a poor cork. See how coarse and porous it is. If it 



282 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

were a good cork it would be fine-grained, and with a surface as 
soft and as finished as satin. That cork at once shows that the 
wine is inferior, although it has cost the extravagant price — for 
this country — of ten francs. All the clarets we have thus far 
tasted lack age and finish. We get vastly better clarets from 
New Orleans. They have the sea^ voyage in the first iDlace, which 
is a good thing; and then they 'make' very fast in that climate. 
However, to change the subject, what's the programme?" 

" Of course," said Soussigne, " the main interest connected. 
with Brussels is the battle-field where Napoleon would have 
thrashed Wellington if Blucher had not gotten up with his 
Prussians." 

" Oh, yes, we must go to Waterloo. Brussels without Waterloa 
would be ' Hamlet ' with Hamlet omitted," said The Com- 
mander. 

"As for me," said Madame, "while I would like to visit the 
battle-field, I would prefer to see the room in which 

There was a sound of revelry by night 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry .' 

But more especially should I like to see that place where 

' Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain .' " 

" Ah well, suppose we see both," said The Commander. " We 
will go to the battle-ground first, and afterward we will look up 
that hall where Brunswick's fated chieftain sate. — " 

"Provided jou can find it," interrupted Soussigne. "There 
are several halls here which are claimed to be the ones where 
Belgium gathered her 'beauty and chivalry' the night before the 
battle ; and there are at least seventy -five ' windowed niches,' each 
of which is said to be the one in which ' Sate Brunswick's fated 
chieftain,' and heard his morrow's doom with ' Death's prophetic 
ear.' In truth, in my private opinion, I don't believe there was 
any ball, or any ' sound of revelry by night,' unless it was some 
English officers bumming round the streets after a heavy wine 
dinner." 

"You are an iconoclast," said Madame. "As for me, I prefer 
to believe these charming legends. They soften the harshness 



SEEING WATERLOO. 283 

of actual occurrences. They are the oases in the deserts of 
history." 

" Waterloo was a one-horse fight, anyhow," said Boussigne. 
"Why, Grant used to lose in one or two skirmishes as many men 
as Wellington had to fight the battle with." 

" It is not the number of the combatants engaged," said The 
Commander, " which gives to Waterloo its importance. Nor is 
it the desperate character of the fighting, whether we look at the 
valor of the furious and repeated assaults made by the French, 
or the stubborn and heroic resistance made by the English. 
There has been any number of battles in wliich the forces en- 
gaged were vastly greater, and the fighting qualities of the com- 
batants equally marvelous. It is as a political fact that the battle 
of Waterloo becomes of tremendous magnitude. Had Napoleon 
won, it would have reversed the course of events, and the Europe 
of to-day would have had no existence." 

Just here Madame tried to put away another yawn in her hand- 
kerchief. Either because the attempt was unskillfully made, or 
the handkerchief was so full of yawns that it would hold no 
more, the present one revealed itself to the whole table. Its 
appearance bred infection. Tlie Shade slowly opened his jaws, 
and kept on opening them until there was nothing visible above 
his shoulders but a great chasm of red and white. 

" I think,'' said The Commander, " as we have traveled a long 
distance to-day, we will retire early and so get a good start in the 
morning for Waterloo.'' 

Good nights were exchanged and the parties separated. 

The next day, soon after high twelve, a dilapidated and creak- 
ing vehicle, drawn by a bony horse, and containing three 
strangers, might have been seen crawling along the streets of 
Brussels toward the depot of the railway leading to Waterloo. 
As they thus moved along, one of them— it was Madame — said: 

" Our progress is quite unlike a movement through these streets, 
and toward the same destination, which was made one night 
taany years ago. Then 

' There was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, 

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war.' " 

"You are quite right," answered Soussigne; "nor is there any 
"hurrying to and fro ; ' for, mark you, how leisurely that animal 



284 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

impels his skin full of bones along the street. There are no 
' gathering tears,' unless those black clouds on the horizon are 
getting ready for a down-pour; in fact, our procession differs 
very essentially from the other. It is true that there were then 
'cheeks all pale which blushed at praise of their own loveliness,' 
and there may be cheeks in our procession entitled to the same 
tribute, and — " 

"Za gave, Mossu,'' said the cocher. 

The trio dismounted, and in less than an hour were deposited 
at Braine Alleud, a little station a short distance beyond Water- 
loo, and where the extreme right of the English forces was 
posted. 

Meanwhile it had begun to rain. It was not a mere rain, but 
a flood, which poured down accompanied by a wind as cold as 
if it had been lying for weeks on a glacier. 

" Strange, isn't it," said The Commander, as the three huddled 
shiveringly under a little shed which served as a station, " that 
■wherever we go a storm always goes with us ? I'm afraid there 
is no "Waterloo for us to-day," he continued as he gazed sorrow- 
fully at the black and pitiless sky. 

The Commander was entirely right in his apprehension. There 
was no let up in the storm. For three hours they waited and 
shivered, till a return train came along and took them back to 
Brussels. 

" These Belgians don't seem to mind the rain," said The Com- 
mander, as they were returning. " See, the grain fields have 
droves of men and women who work on just the same as if it 
were sunshine." 

" They're an economical people," responded Soussigne ; " they 
find a use for everything — even for women. Now, there goes a 
cart in which is seated a man, while a dog and a woman draw it 
along. I like that ! Women evidently have their rights in this 
country." 

" Ah, indeed," said Madame, with an ironical accent. 

"Yes," said Soussigne, " everything works here. Nothing is 
allowed to be idle. A Belgian dog, for instance, has no rosy time 
of it. He doesn't spend his time treeing cats, or loafing around 
with other dogs, or barking at small boys through a picket fence. 
Not much! The first thing he knows, he's put at work hauling 
a milk-cart, or a rag-wagon, or something of the kind. No cavor- 
ting around and having a good time for him. When he wakes 



SEEING WATERLOO. 



285 




286 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

in the morning, instead of trotting around a couple of blocks to 
get up an appetite and see what's the news among the other dogs, 
or to find out whether that cat that he ran up a tree the night 
before has come down or not, he is put into his little harness and 
earns his breakfast like a Christian. And then the women — 
they don't sit around with a dozen silk dresses on hand, and 
nothing fit to be seen in. Oh, no ! Just as soon as day begins to 
break, they slip on a nice blue frock and go to business. They 
don't dawdle around for a few hours, and then go down town and 
make the rounds of the dry-goods shops to match a piece of 
mauve ribbon. Nothing of the kind ! They haven't the remotest 
idea as to what is the latest thing in 'bangs,' in waists, or pull- 
backs. That old blue frock which they wear, ties at the neck and 
buttons at the waist, and one of them can get into it, and be all 
dressed and ready for business before an American woman can 
get one eye open." 

" How very wonderful ! " said Madame, with ironical polite- 
ness. 

"Yes, quite so," said Soussigne; "and then when a Belgian 
woman is ready for bed, it doesn't take her two hours to unbutton, 
unpin, unlace, unhook, untie, and unfasten generally. She gives 
a pull at the neck-string, a twist at the waist-button, kicks otf her 
wooden shoes, hops into bed, and in two minutes is snoring 
musically — being altogether too tired to devote a couple of hours 
to caudleizing and all that. That's the kind of a wife for a young 
fellow to go into business with ! Only one pair of wooden shoes 
and one frock in a lifetime. Think of the saving in millinery and 
dry-goods bills ! The only fault I can find with the Belgian sys- 
tem is that it puts too much on the men. Men are naturally, and 
by virtue of their intellectual superiority, managers. All they 
really ought to do is to plan the work and oversee its execution 
by the women. Otherwise the Belgian system is admirable. As 
soon as I get home, I am going to try and introduce it, dress and 
all, in Chicago, with such improvements as 1 have suggested." 

The Commander had not apparently taken much interest in 
Soussigne's remarks. He sat and gazed gloomily out across the 
fields on which the rain fell with sullen persistence. Finally he 
said: 

" Let's go somewhere else. We can do nothing here so long as 
this weather continues. What is there of interest to be seen in 
Brussels?" 



DOING HOLLAND. 



287 



" Nothing of great interest," responded Soussigne, " unless it 
■fae the house in which J. Russell Jones lived. "We ought to make 
a pilgrimage to that shrine, I suppose." 

"As for me," said Madame, "I should like to visit the palace 
at Lacken, v^^here Josephine once lived, and near vphich is the 
tomb of Malibran." 

"That's all well enough," said The Commander, "but we can't 
visit anything unless we have some respectable weather. I pro- 
pose we take a run over to Holland and then come back and ' do ' 
Brussels." 

"Agreed, nem. con., so far as I'm concerned, replied Soussigne. 

" What is there to see in Holland ? " asked Madame. 

" "Why, don't you know." said Soussigne, " that Amsterdam is 
the greatest diamond market in the world ? " 

"Is it really? Oh, let us go to Holland, of course. How de- 
lightful! How kind of you to think of it," said Madame, as she 
gave The Commander a winning smile. 

The next morning the party, including The Shade, was en route 
to Holland. 



LETTER XLIV. 

DOING HOLLAND. 

On-the-"Wing, June 14, 1878. 

'HE same storm that used to hang around the "Westminster 
Palace Hotel in London, so as to catch our excursionists 
whenever they showed a nose beyond the door-posts ; which 
chased them up and pelted them when they were going from 
Ostend to Brussels ; which waylaid them and caught them when 
they went to Waterloo — the same storm suddenly sprang upon 
them from an ambush as soon as they were fairly under way for 
Holland. It was a persistent, exhaustless, chilly, diabolical 
storm. It followed the excursion party as the snows and the 
Russians followed Napoleon in his retreat from Moscow. It 
knocked fiercely against the windows f(jr admission : it clattered 



288 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

on the top of the car as it were attempting to reach them by 
making a hole through the roof; it deployed its columns all 
about the train as if to surround the victims and render escape 
an impossibility. 

The train was running across the low, flat lands of Belgium^ 
going north towai'd Amsterdam. In due season it ran through 
the colossal fortifications and into the city of Antwerp. 

" I suppose," said The Commander, " that we ought to give a 
little time to Antwerp ; but as tourists have done it so thoroughly 
there is not much to be learned." 

"I can give you all about Antwerp, or Anvers, as the French 
term it," said Soussigne, " in a nutshell." 

" Ah, yes," said Madame. " You have, I have been told, a taste 
and an excellent memory for historical details " 

"Taisez-vous, Madame! Here we have it in a dozen words," 
and pulling out his little book with the red covers, he read: 

"Antwerp, Belgium, one hundred and twenty-five thousand 
inhabitants; place great historical interest; situated on banks 
Scheldt; Rubens born and buried here. English Protestantism 
owes much to Antwerp, because here were issued many of the 
earliest editions of the New Testament. Very rich in historical, 
artistic, and archaeological associations. .Particularly rich in art, 
having given birth to Reubens, Van Dyck, Quentin Matsys, and 
all the greatest painters of the Low Countries." 

Here Soussigne closed the book and said; 

"Voila tout! It has a cathedral, of course. They all have. 
The women are an uninteresting combination of the stiffness of 
the Spaniard, the stupidity of the Flemish, dashed with a little 
French vivacity, taken from intercourse with modern civilization. 
The best thing in Antwerp is its pictures. I suppose that, as 
lovers of art, we should stop and go through the picture galr 
leries." 

" Can't we see Rubens and Van Dyck in the Paris galleries ? '* 
asked Madame. 

" Oh, certainly." 

" Well, then, what's the use of stopping here to see pictures^ 
when we can see them at Paris ? " 

The party had a very narrow escape from missing a tour of 
Rotterdam. The train had halted in the depot of that city for 
refreshments. The Commander and Madame had returned to the 
car Soussigne was walking up and down the platform, pulling 



DOING HOLLAND. 289 

away at a big cigar, when it suddenly occurred to him that, as 
they were in a new country, the proper thing to do was to inter- 
view somebody. The guard of the train happened to be the 
nearest somebody, and him the interviewer went for. 

"Parlez-vous anglais, monsieur?" 

"Na," was the reply of the Low-Dutch gentleman. 

"Fraufais?" 

"Na." 

'♦ Allemand ? " 

"Na." 

"Sanscrit?" 

" Na." 

"Choctaw?" 

" Na." 

This not panning out satisfactorily, Soussigne, still determined 
to interview somebody, went up to an individual with a red cap ; 
and in order to have an excuse to say something, pulled out his 
tickets. 

" Monsieur parle anglais, n'est pas ? " 

" Oh yes. What can I do for you ? " 

" When does the train leave for Amsterdam ? " 

He glanced at the tickets. 

" It leaves in twenty minutes from a station about a mile from 
here. If you take a carriage and drive fast you rhay catch it ! " 

Soussigne tore himself away at a rate that must have aston- 
ished the gentleman in the red cap. The Commander was pick- 
ing his teeth, and with his legs extended to the opposite seat, was 
particularly comfortable. Madame had wrapped up her head, 
and was half asleep in a corner. 

" Get out, quick ! Wrong train ! Have to change here ! Here, 
j^ou Senegambian, tumble out with the traps! " 

There was no time to spare. They had but barely reached the' 
platform when the train rushed away. A cab was called, and the 
party driven to another depot, on the opposite side of Rotter- 
dam. Madame was annoyed, and refused to look out the window. 
The Commander was evidently engaged in a speculation as to 
who was responsible for obliging him to leave a train which was 
going direct to Amsterdam, in order to take another train for the 
same place. Soussigne, therefore, had to do all the sight-seeing. 
He saw that Rotterdam is a quiet old town in which canals, 
streets, vessels, quays, are intimately mixed up. There are no 
19 



290 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

sidewalks to speak of, and consequently everybody, including 
dogs, donkeys, men, women, carts, cabs, children, goes along the 
middle of the street. 

But there was little time for observation. Under pressure of 
extra compensation, the driver stimulated his steed into what was 
a suggestion of a trot, and they were soon at the other depot. 
The train was ready, the excursionists tumbled in, the doors were 
banged shut, and away they went. 

"This is very provoking, I'm sure! " said the Madame. 

" But console yourself, Madame," said Soussigne. " Don't you 
see that if we had not changed cars you would have missed see- 
ing Rotterdam ? How would it do to go back to Chicago, and 
confess that you had not taken in Rotterdam — Rotterdam, the 
second city in Holland — Rotterdam, near which is made the 
celebrated Schiedam Schnapps — the city where the great Eras- 
mus was born " 

But Madame was chagrined at being rushed out of one train, 
through a city, and into another at such an undignified rate of 
speed. She shrugged her shoulders over Soussigne's remarks, 
whereupon he took the hint and subsided. 

The rain still pursued them, but it could not prevent their be- 
coming interested in the singular country through which they 
were running at thirty miles an hour. Everywhere canals, 
ditches filled with water, dykes, sluice-gates. Everywhere flat 
lands extending from horizon to horizon. Here and there dense 
masses of vegetation, amidst which gleamed the rich purple and 
gold and virgin white of blossoms. 

" Oh, how lovely?" exclaimed Madame, whose artistic tenden- 
cies speedily overcame her chagrin over the Rotterdam fiasco. 
"See what exquisite tints in those flowers — how rich and mass- 
ive the efiects of the great waves of green in yonder grove ! " 

" I suppose you know," said The Commander, " that much of 
Holland lies beneath the level of the ocean — in some places, I 
am told, being from thirty to fifty feet below high-water mark ; 
and that the country is only saved from being flooded by vast 
dykes constructed all along tlie sea-coast. It is said that in case 
of an invasion the entire region can be inundated." 

" But in such a case," asked Madame, "what becomes of the 
inhabitants ? " 

" Oh, they go ashore, I fancy,'' said Soussigne. 

" Inundating the country," continued The Commander, " would 



DOING HOLLAND. 291 

he, it seems to me, veiy like the case of the chap who stood in 
his shirt in a doorway at midnight, in mid-winter, holding a dog 
out-doors for tlie purpose of freezing him to deatli — the Dutch 
would get the worst of it. But it is a country full of grand his- 
torical interest, dating back to the second century, when it was 
overrun by the Saxons and " 

"What in the world is that?" suddenlj- exclaimed Madame, 
pointing to a melancholy-looking bird, shaped like a heron, 
with slender legs about three feet long, and a neck and bill of 
corresponding length, and which, poised upon one foot, with its 
bill stuck under its wing, stood in a most disconsolate attitude 
by a pool of water. 

"That, Madame," replied Soussigne, "is a Dutch hen, one of 
the regulation kind which lays eggs, cackles, and scratches for 
worms. Its peculiar shape and length of legs prove the Dar- 
winian theory that development depends on surroundings. This 
is an aquatic country. Hens cannot swim, but as there is every- 
where water, their legs have gradually grown so that they can 
wade about without difficulty." 

Madame received the philosophical statement with a look of 
incredulity. 

The country through which they were running between Rot- 
terdam and Amsterdam lies along the east shore of the North 
Sea, and is, with scarcely any exception, devoted to dairy pur- 
poses. At intervals of three or four miles, the monotony of the 
treeless level is relieved by railway stations, in and about which 
are quaint houses, surrounded with charming flower-gardens, 
while the whole is enveloped with the dense foliage of ever- 
greens and annuals, all of which seem to thrive most luxuriously 
in the wet soil and humid atmosphere. At all these stations are 
doll-like summer-houses, witli living hedges trimmed into fan- 
tastic shapes, beds of gorgeous flowers, winding walks bordered 
with perennial plants, and arbors of light wicker-work, over 
which clamber vines purple in hue and dense and impenetrable 
in their luxurious growtli. 

In the distance, dotting the prairie-like expanse, appear at in- 
tervals, farm-houses, with their out-buildings. All these are 
anchored in little islands of green, which serve to protect them 
from the cold in winter, from the heat in summer, and to diver- 
sify a landscape which otherwise would be intolerable in its 
dreary monotony. Roads, there are comparatively none. Occa- 



292 SKETCHES BEYOISTD IHE SEA. 

sionally a dyke, higher than the average is employed as a wagoa 
tracli, and where one is thus used, there is usually a double row 
of trees planted on either side, and which covers the roadway 
with a living arch. 

"Have you noticed," asked The Commander, "that since leav- 
ing Ostend, we have found neither in Belgium nor Holland, a 
single rod of fence upon any of the farm-lands?'' 

Soussigne owned up frankly that his eyes had not been blessed 
with Ihe sight of even a suggestion of worm-fence, stone-wall, 
hedge, post-and-board, or any other of the numerous contriv- 
ances employed in civilized England and still more enlightened 
America. 

" It is a good thing," continued The Commander. " It is esti- 
mated that the fences in America, and their repair, cost more 
than all the railways. In Nebraska they have passed a herd- 
law, whose effect is to oblige each owner to herd his cattle, and 
thus save the expense of fencing. The people seem to get along^ 
here without fences, and I don't see why we can't do the same. 
It is true that here in Holland the innumerable ditches serve as 
fences; but in Belgium there are no ditches or dykes, and they 
appear to have no difficulty." 

"These ditches are really fences," said Soussigne. " Our fences 
are above ground, while these are inverted and run into the 
ground. The former is in alto-relief, the latter is an intaglio, or 
in reverse. The jDrinciple is the same, only the application is 
different. The intaglio style, it seems to me, is best. A cow 
can't throw down a panel or two, and so get over into the clover 
field. That white slave — the boy on a farm — does not have to 
take a dog and an axe and go over and chase the cows out of a 
corn-field, and then mend a couple of rods of rail fence, while 
the able-bodied farm-hands are taking an after-dinner snooze under 
a shade tree. I was a boy in the country once, and I know how it 
is myself. Ugh ! " said he with a grimace of disgust, " I can even 
yet feel the Canada thistles whicli used to run into my bare feet. 
There was always a steer that would run four times around the 
whole field pretending he didn't know the way out, and who 
always went where the thistles and stones were the thickest and 
sharpest. As a boy, give me the Holland fence which can't be 
hooked down, and which doesn't stick slivers in a boy's hands, 
or oblige him to smash his shins with an axe when he goes to 
mend it." 



DOING HOLLAND. 293 

In Madame, who had never been a boy in the country, these pa- 
thetic reminiscences seemed to awake no sympathetic chord. As 
for The Commander, never having gone barefooted when a lad, 
and stubbed his toe against a stone in the road, while racing a 
red squirrel along a rail fence, he too, seemed little or not at all 
affected. He did not wipe away any tears, or seem even sorry, 
which Soussigne took to be quite unfeeling on his part. The 
Teteran mused awhile as if he were wondering what the deuce 
steers, cornfields, and Canada thistles had to do with Holland 
scenery, and then apparently giving it up, he said : 

"It certainly cannot be a very healthy country. All these 
ditches are stagnant and covered with a green slime. It must be 
frightfully malarious. I wonder how they get along with so 
few roads?" 

The answer came almost at once. The train ran by a group of 
■cows which were being milked. In the nearest ditch was a flat- 
bottomed boat, loaded with glistening tins, and which a man 
with a pole was pushing along in the direction of a distant farm- 
house. Frequently thereafter were the same vehicles to be seen, 
loaded with milk-cans, bundles of wood, farming implements, or 
Iiay, all being propelled in one direction or another. 

"There are the Holland roads," said Soussigne. " In winter, 
when frozen, all these ditches serve as road-ways for sleds and 
skaters. When a Holland lover invites his sweetheart to take a 
ride, he places her tenderly in a flat -bottomed scow, and then 
with a pole sends her along, the while murmuring his passion in 
the softest, gutteral Dutch. They go to christenings, to funerals, 
to pay visits, to make love, to get married, in these primitive 
vehicles. There, for instance, you see that boat to which is 
hitched a cow, and in which are a man and a woman. That, I 
have no doubt, is some nabob taking his mistress for a drive. 
"With his cow, he is to other fellows who propel their craft with 
a pole, what a four-in-hand in Hyde Park is to the donkey-cart 
of a costermonger in Petticoat Lane." 

" Holland seems iinique in everything," said The Commander. 
"When I get home I shall read Motley's 'Dutch Republic' with 
much more interest than I read it without having seen the 
country." 

" One must see a country, or a people,'' said Madame, " in order 
to understand it. Writers somehow fail in doing what they 



294 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 




AROUND AMSTERDAM. 295 

should do, aud that is to present a country so the reader can see 
it as a picture." 

"True," said Soussigne, "there's nothing like travel to correct 
false notions. I have no doubt, for instance, that many people 
are under the impression that the Dutch are web-footed, and 
have tails like beavers. Now that we see them, we discover 
that all our life we have been laboring under a delusion." 

Thus chatting they rolled along — along over resounding 
bridges, across canals crowded with queer and clumsy boats ; by 
herds of cows being milked in the open fields; through long 
and dreary stretches gridironed with slimy ditches, by stations 
with a whistle and a fierce rush, where flashed across the vision 
women in short gowns with high-crowned caps and golden orna- 
ments that curled like ram's-horns about their foreheads; on and 
on until upon the horizon there came into view a dense black 
mass which slowly grew into domes, steeples, wind-mills, towers 
and houses ; and then, a little later the tourists were in the depot 
among the odd figures, the queer architecture and unintelligible 
jargon of Amsterdam. 



LETTER XLV 



ATIOUND AMSTERDAM. 

On-the-Winq, June 17, 1878. 

fHEY were going from the depot to the hotel, through the 
streets of Amsterdam, in a close carriage, when Soussigne 
suddenly exclaimed : 
" What in heaven's name are all these people staring at? " 
It was something marvellous. As they went along, people 
stopped, and gazed at the carriage, with open mouths, and eyes 
which grew big with wonder. Out of the windows of the nar- 
row houses heads were thrust; the white-capped servant-girls who 
were sweeping the front " stoops " suspended operations to lean 
on their brooms and watch the carriage; men and women in 
groups nudged each other to invite attention to the vehicle — in 
fine, all that portion of Holland's capital through which the ex- 



296 SKETCHES BEVOND THE SEA. 

cursionists were passing seemed possessed by a most singular 
and lively curiosity in regard to the Yankee travelers. 

"This isn't the first time," said Soussigne, " that this thing has 
occurred, although the curiosity of these stolid Dutchmen seems 
more pronounced than that of other places. We seemed to at- 
tract an extraordinary amount of attention when we rode through 
Brussels and Rotterdam. I wonder if there is anything remark- 
able about us?" 

"Perhaps they think we are grand dukes, or something, in dis- 
guise," said Madame. 

" It's infernally annoying, anyhow," said Soussigne. " I won- 
der if there is anything going on outside. I think I'll take a 
look." 

He thrust his head and shoulders out of the carriage window. 
The whole matter suddenly presented itself. On the seat with 
the driver was The Shade. His shoulders were thrown far back, 
and his thumbs were thrust into the arm-holes of his vest. His 
head was tipped so far back that he seemed to be gazing into the 
tenth stories of the houses along the street. His cap was on his 
left ear; and across his broad nose was stretched a pair of 
enormous eye-glasses, whose rims inclosed spaces as large as 
saucers. 

"It's that d— d nigger — beg pardon for the profanity," said 
Soussigne, as in huge disgust he pulled himself in like a snail. And 
then he proceeded to describe the spectacle on exhibition on the 
driver's seat. The Commander was amused, the Madame fu- 
rious. A moment later they halted at the hotel, whereupon The 
Shade appeared as usual to open the door. His cap was square 
on his head. There was no vestige of the eye-glasses except a 
furrow which had been pinched into the half pear-like formation 
which served for a nose. He was fairly round-shouldered with 
humility, and seemed as if he were too modest to look anybody 
squarely in the face. 

Soon after the excursionists had gone to their rooms, Soussigne 
happened to pass by that occupied by Madame. Just then The 
Shade came out with a look on his countenance which convinced 
Soussigne that he had been receiving a piece of Madame's mind. 
He looked very chop-fallen and sheepish; and, during that even- 
ing, he stood around on one leg, and seemed the incarnation of 
wretchedness. 

"The fact is," said Madame, at dinner, "they think more of a 



' AROCND AMSTERDAM. 297 

negro on this side tlian they do of a white person. In England 
every wliere the prettiest of the servant girls, at the hotels, thought 
it an honor to get The Shade for an escort in a walk." 
, " And I never go out in front of a hotel where we are stop- 
ping," said Soussign6, "without finding him the center of an ad- 
miring crowd. They evidently look upon him as a Russian 
prince, and upon the rest of us as his attendants." 

" It's a shame, and I won't have it," was Madame's reply, and 
then the subject dropped. 

Among the waiters at the dinner was a tallow-faced person, of 
some thirty-four years of age, who became noticeable because he 
spoke English very fairly, and because of his close attention to 
the wants of the excursionists, and his general air of dejection. 

After dinner, Soussigne was smoking a cigar in the hall, when 
the tallow-faced waiter with the dejected countenance came up 
to him, thrust a card into his hand, and said : 

" I see you are from Chicago. I once lived in Chicago." 

" Ah, indeed ! " 

"Yes, I was a drummer for Field & Leiter." 

"What are you doing here?" 

" I was born here, but went to America wlien 1 was young. I 
have been also in China, Japan, Australia, and Russia. I saved a 
few thousand dollars in China, and went back to America and 
invested in White Pine mining claims. That ended me, and I 
came home to Holland." 

" How do you amuse yourself now-a-days? " 

"My mother is quite rich, and very old. She can't last long, 
I'm sure. When she slips out, I'll be all right again. In the 
meantime, I wait on the table here, and act as guide to travelers 
around Amsterdam. I'd like to show you around," and as he 
concluded he heaved a sigh that convulsed him like a young 
earthquake. 

The next day was Saturday, and under the guidance of Field 
& Leiter's former protege, the party went abroad in an open car- 
riage to view the city. It rained, of course; but the weather, 
evidently wearying of its long effort to drown the party, had 
changed its tactics. It was no longer a steady rain. It now 
stormed in vicious showers, and between these a fierce wind 
came howling down from the Zuyder Zee, and chilled the very 
marrow of the excursionists. 



298 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" Of course," said Madame, " the first places we should visit 
are the diamond establishments." 

" Quite unfortunately," answered the guide, " that is impossible, 
because to-day is Saturday, which is the Jewish Sabbath ; and, as 
all the diamond business is in the hands of Jews, and every es- 
tablishment closed, you cannot see any of the diamond works." 

Here Soussigne informed the party that, for his part, had he 
known this, he would have seen Amsterdam more dammed even 
than it now is — and it is full of dams — before he would have 
come hundreds of miles to see a played-out Dutch settlement, 
which, outside of its diamond works, is of no possible interest. 

" But," said The Commander, " there is certainly much else ta 
see. Amsterdam is so intimately associated with the settlement 
of various parts of America that it cannot but be of interest to a 
traveler from that country, especially one from eastern New York. 
The student of race will find here explanations of the peculiari- 
ties in the manners and habits of one of the most respected and 
influential branches of the American nation." 

" I see at once," said Madame, " the origin of various names. 
In fact, the English and Dutch seem very much alike. There, 
for instance, is a sign which reads ' Scheep Victuallen.' That's 
almost exactly like English, although it must be a queer business- 
to furnish victuals for sheep." 

"Pardon me, Madame," said Soussigne, "you are partly right 
and partly wrong. ' Scheep Victuallen,' in my humble opinion, 
does not exactly mean victuals for the sportive lamb and the in- 
nocent sheep, but rather, ' Supplies for Vessels.' Otherwise, I 
think you have it exactly." 

The party rode for some hours, and saw much that thej'' haci 
never seen before, or even dreamed of seeing. There are twO' 
rivers and four principal canals, over which the town is ex- 
tended, and these are connected by smaller canals in every direc- 
tion. It is diflicult to say whether Amsterdam should be re- 
garded as a system of water-conrses, with some houses on the 
banks, or a city, through which extends a net-work of navigable 
ditches. 

" All Amsterdam," said the guide, " all the houses, streets, 
quays, docks — everything you see, even the canals, are built oa 
piles. Where we now ride, wherever we may ride was once 
the sea." 

The character of the houses struck the travelers as being very 



AROUND AMSTERDAM. 29& 

queer. As a general thing, all have steep, double roofs, and 
stand with the gables toward the street. Just under the gable is 
a large, square window, over which projects a beam with a pul- 
■ ley and a rope. This, the guide informed them, is used for rais- 
ing all the material used in housekeeping, so as to avoid the dirt 
incidental to carrying tilings up the stairway. Few of the houses 
are palatial in their exterior, those on the more aristocratic streets 
falling behind even tlie third-rate private residences in Chicago. 
Many of the houses which run up five, six, or seven stories in. 
height, are often not more than from nine to twelve feet in width. 

The widest streets are narrow compared with tliose of Paris or 
New York. The majority are mere paths, through which, in 
passing, the pedestrian can, with extended hands, touch the build- 
ings on either side. In such cases the streets are mere fissures 
opening down through the queer and antiquated tenements. 
Nearly every house in Amsterdam is provided with small square 
mirrors, placed at such angles before the upper windows, that 
one sitting before one of them cannot only see callers, but alsa 
all that is going on along the street in every direction. 

"What are those mirrors used in such quantities for, do you 
suppose?" asked Madame. 

" Probably," said Soussigne, " that the Dutch house-wife may 
know what is going on next door, without the trouble of dress- 
ing in order to go out and get the latest news. She now can. 
glance in her little mirror and see what the people over the way 
have for dinner; who takes the young ladj'- in No. 12 out for a 
walk or drive; who called at No. 25, and how long he stayed, 
and all that. It seems to me these mirrors are great labor-saving- 
institutions in the interest of over-worked women. A woman 
can, with one of them, know all that is going on in a neighbor- 
hood, and without expending a tithe of the labor which an 
American woman must ordinarily employ in order to accom- 
plish the same, and to her, desirable result." 

Madame's answer was rather a contemptuous shrug of the 
shoulders. 

" Amsterdam," remarked The Commander, " is not, I believe, 
either directly on the North sea or on the Zuyder Zee, is it ? " 

"No," said the guide. "The river Ij here widens out into a 
sort of bay, and the city is on the south bank. It is between the 
North sea and the Zuyder Zee, being a little nearer the latter than 
the former. It used to reach the German ocean by way of the 



SOO SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

2uyder Zee, but many years ago a sliip canal was built wliicli 
runs from here north, and it is fifty miles long. Lately another 
ship canal has been constructed which is some sixteen miles 
long, and reaches the sea at the mouth of the Ij. It cost over 
$10,000,000. It is about ninety feet wide at the bottom, over two 
hundred feet at the surface, and will admit vessels having a 
draught of twenty-four feet. It is expected that in time the en- 
tire cost of the canal will be more than met by the waste land 
on both sides of it, which was formcrlj' a marsh, or at the bot- 
tom of a lake, and which is being gradually transformed into 
excellent farming lands worth hundreds of dollars an acre." 

" Sliould you make a note of these important details," said 
Soussigne, " don't spell the river ' e-y-e,' for although it is pro- 
nounced exactly like that important visual organ, it is really 
spelt 'Ij.'" 

" By-the-way," inquired Madame, "I see that every 'bus and 
street car which we meet has the word 'Dam' on it. Has it 
some particular meaning ? " 

" Nearly the same as in English," said the guide. " It means 
to dam a stream. The principal public square of Amsterdam is 
known as the ' Dam.' To and from this all 'busses and street 
cars run. Amsterdam comes from the river Amstel — which 
juns through the city — and the word ' dam.' The city itself is 
crescent-shaped and has four principal canals, which follow tlie 
shape of the outer rim of the crescent, and lie within each other 
— that is to say are concentric. All these canals are connected 
by hundreds of shorter canals, which cut the others generally at 
right angles.'' 

" What a great pity," said The Commander, in an aside to 
Soussigne, " that a man of such extended information, and who 
once occupied tlie conspicuous position of drummer for Field & 
Leiter, should be reduced to waiting — that is, waiting on a table, 
and waiting for the death of his mother! " 

They drove everywhere. They went out on the enormous 
dykes which separate the city from the gulf of the Ij. Beneath 
lay the city; higher up lay the gray and monotonous extent of 
water. Mile after mile of masts, from which floated the flags of 
every nation, bore witness to the extent and variety of the com- 
merce of Amsterdam. Far to the northeast were banks of mist, 
in hue like the leaden clouds, which marked the location of the 
Zuyder Zee. Apart from the activity along the wharves, the scene 



AROUND AMSTERDAM. 301 

•was cold, dead, cheerless. Away on every side from the city ex- 
tended the monotonous level of the open country. Below lay the 
city, sombre, without a single relieving tint of color. On the 
north were the gray waters, wliose low horizon gave the impres- 
sion of an ashen, illimitable waste. The heavy clouds hung low 
in the sky, the wind came fiercelj^ and freezingly from the north. 
The Commander shuddered. "Let us go to the hotel," said he. 
*' This cold goes through me like a sword of ice." 

On their return they made the circuit of the city, following the 
bow of the crescent. 

" Good heavens ! " suddenly ejaculated Madame. " How inhu- 
man! See those poor little boys in this freezing weather, over 
there, playing soldiers, and each with his nursing-bottle slung 
over his shoulder ! " 

The guide fired up instantly. " ' Little boys ! ' Those are 
regular soldiers, and what you call 'nursing-bottles' arc car- 
tridge-boxes." 

" Soldiers ! Has Holland any soldiers ? " asked Soussigne. 
" Yes, indeed ! Holland has a standing army of twenty thou- 
sand troops." 

"Is it possible ! And what for ? You must keep them to fight 
water-rats." 

But the guide had become sulky, and refused any further 
information on the subject. The excursionists encountered large 
squads of these " soldiers " drilling on the dykes. Madame was 
right in her original impression. They were mere children as to 
size and age. Many seemed no more than sixteen, and few were 
more than five feet three or four inches in height. 

" I can only account for the extreme youth of these soldiers," 
said Soussigne, " by supposing that all the veterans have been 
killed ofi" in those tremendous wars in which Holland is always 
engaged." 

" What wars ? " queried The Commander. " I am not aware of 
her having had any very great war since the time of Pliilip L 
and the infamous Duke Alva." 

" The Avars I refer to," answered Soussigne, " are her ceaseless 
combats with Schnapps, bad water, the malaria of these ever- 
lasting marshes, and the stenches from these canals. Have we 
seen a single healthy, ruddy face since we entered Amsterdam? 
Not one. The men are stunted as to height. The women are, 
without exception, pale, emaciated, cadaverous. There is not 



302 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

even a healthy-looking child. Last evening I spent an hour in 
Rembrandt Square, which seems a great play-ground for chil- 
dren, and among the hundreds whom I saw there, I did not see 
one robust, vigorous specimen. As for beautiful women, I have 
seen but one unmistakably handsome woman in Holland." 

Here Soussigne looked carelessly at Madame. 

" Indeed ! " said the latter, " where did you see her ? " 

" Oh, I saw her at the hotel, and then I saw her out driving 
to-day. I fancy, however, she is a foreigner; very likely an 
American." 

" How I wish I could see her," said Madame ; and then the 
matter dropped. 

Everywhere, as they circled the city, they found hundreds of 
windmills, all tossing their long arms wildly in the stiff breeze. 
The guide explained that they do all sorts of work — pumping, 
grinding, sawing, turning, everything. Soussigne saw in them 
additional evidence of Dutch economy. " Wind costs nothing," 
he said, " and so it is a favorite power with these people. It 
comes from the land, rushing toward the ocean ; but it finds here 
toll to be paid. It must halt long enough to grind a grist for 
these Dutch burghers, and then, gathering up armfuls of the 
stenches which lie along the canals, it bears them away to the 
distant ocean. Any wind coming this way has got something to 
do before it can get out of town. It doesn't spend its time in 
smelling at tulips and geraniums, or in tumbling up the green 
masses of the trees, or in chasing hats up the street, or blowing 
dust in the eyes of pedestrians. When it gets here it is just har- 
nessed up and put to work, and like a casual in a London night- 
shelter, it is not allowed to go until it has done a certain amount 
of work. If you should treat these breezes in the same way at 
home they would sober down, and not go about unroofing houses 
smashing steeples, and making balloons of hay-stacks and small 
children as they now do so often in Illinois and Wisconsin." 

"Shall we stay and see the diamond works?" asked Madame, 
when they had reached the hotel. 

"Not necessary," said Soussigne, "because you can see the 
same thing being carried on in the exposition at Paris." 

The Commander complained that the weather was too atro- 
cious for human endurance ; and despite the fact that they had 
not visited any of the picture galleries or the museums, he 
thought they had better hunt a warmer climate. 



AMSTERDAM TO THE RHINE. 303 

"We will go back," said lie, " aud finisli Belgium and Water- 
loo, and tlieu we will go south to Switzerland." 

The next afternoon saw them seated beneath the glass roof, 
with the warm light, and amidst the fragrant flowers of the con- 
servatory of the hotel at Brussels. 



LETTER XLVI. 

AMSTERDAM TO THE RHINE. 

On-the-Wing, June 19, 1878. 

tHE excursionists were seated at the table in the hotel in 
Brussels, where they were at the close of the last letter. 
The Commander had the floor. He was saying : 

" I'm sorry the weather was so against us in Holland, for the 
people there are unquestionably the most unique in Europe, and, 
more than any other, worthy of close study. Their industry ; 
the colossal work they have performed in rescuing so large a ter- 
ritory from the sea ; their enterprise in colonial extensions ; their 
great maritime performances, and their commercial enteprise 
place them second to no other European nation in all that con- 
tributes to the true greatness of a people. What we saw in Am- 
sterdam is not fairly representative of the Dutch character. That 
city is scarcely more than a new or second Jerusalem, in which 
the Jewish element predominates. We should have gone into 
the country places; we should have gone into the farm-houses, 
in order to get a true estimate of the excessive cleanliness, the 
originality, the grand charitableness, the singular costumes and 
customs, the real life of the people. It's a great pity that we 
could not have given a week or two to a studious examination. 
We would have found the originals of Washington Irving's 
sketches, for these people do not change. We should have seen 
the Dirk Hatteraicks, Rip Van Winkles, Von Tromps, De Ruy- 
ters, and other characters, legendary or historical, exactly almost 
as they were in the originals." 

" True," said Soussigne, " I would not have been surprised to 
have met the Flying Dutchman at any turning of the street. 



304 SKETCHES BEVOND THE SEA. 

What I am astonished at, however, is that the Amsterdamers 
allowed us to leave with any money. They evidently did not 
intend to leave us any; they made up their minds as to the 
amount they supposed we had, and made their bills to include 
it all." 
" What do you mean ? " asked Madame. 

"Well, in plain English, I mean to be understood as saying 
that I regard the Dutch as the biggest thieves in Europe. The 
hotel bill was twice what it has been at any other place, and con- 
sequently was four times as large as it should have been. Every- 
thing that 1 priced at the shops was rated at six times its value. 
Every waiter at the hotel had some photographs or cigars, or 
guide-books, or something to sell ; and robbed me when I bought 
anything, and abused me when I refused to purchase. You 
remember, perhaps, that when we left the hotel there was no one 
present, as is usually the case in European hotels, to touch his 
hat and say good-bye ? Yes? Well, that was because I had just 
refused to buy a box of ' real Havanas ' from the steward at ten 
times their value. He was so disgusted at my refusal that he 
did not come to see us off, although I had given him a fee of 
five francs. His last remark to me was that every gentleman who 
left the hotel always bought a box of his cigars." 

" I must say," said Madame, " that I found many charming 
things in Amsterdam. This was especially the case with the 
chimes from the steeples. Every quarter of an hour they would 
ring out softly, and at every hour the carillons were full, sonor- 
ous and enchanting. Then the queer old boats in the canals, 
stained the color of rich mahogany, and built as if to last for- 
ever; the quaint head-dresses of the women; the tall buildings 
with their pointed gables mirrored in the canals — all these were 
odd, interesting, and often full of artistic qualities." 

" And yet,'' said Soussigne, " strangely enough you missed one 
of the most charming things in all Amsterdam.'' 

"What was that?" 

"A public house of confinement and correction to which a 
husband can send a scolding or otherwise disagreeable wife for 
punishment and reform." 

" Humph ! I don't see anything very attractive about that. It 
strikes me as being more brutal than attractive." 

" But I haven't come to what a woman would regard as the 
charming feature of this institution. That is, that a woman can 



AMSTERDAM TO THE KHINE. 305 

send her husband there in case he doesn't behave himself. Now, 
isn't that charming?" 

Madame was silent. 

" Just fancy how convenient such an arrangement for a wife 
who finds her husband a bore — as some husbands are. She sends 
him to the Spinhuis and keeps him there until he mellows and 
agrees to behave himself — to buy a coviple of new bonnets, to 
send her and the children for a mouth to a watering-place, to not 
speak to that thing, Miss Millefleurs, and generally to conduct 
himself as a well-regulated, obedient husband ought to. Ah, 
you see, these thrifty people know how to care for the comfort of 
their wives! " 

"What's the programme for to-morrow?" asked The Com- 
mander, suddenly breaking in on Soussigne's eloquent disserta- 
tion on the domestic life of the Hollanders. 

" I don't know," said the latter. " What's your idea?" 

" We ought to see Waterloo, of course, then take a look around 
Brussels, after which let us hunt a warmer climate." 

"Where, for instance?" asked Soussigne. 

"It must be delightfully warm and pleasant at Paris, just 
now," said Madame. 

" I think," said The Commander, apparently not hearing Mad- 
ame's remark, " that after having finished here we might go over 
to Cologne, and so up the Rhine. So much is said and written 
about the trip up the Rhine that, it seems to me, while we are in 
the neighborhood, so to speak, we ought to make it. After that 
we can lake a run through Switzerland, over to Venice, perhaps 
then to Genoa, and from there to Paris." 

"All right," answered Soussigne. 

" Delightful ! " said Madame. " I've always been dying to see 
the Rhine. Let's go there by all means." 

" Good night," said The Commander, as he left the table for his 
room. 

The next day it rained. No Waterloo. The Commander 
thought fate was against them. " It's too bad," he said. " Here 
is an opportunity to look over the ground from which history 
has constructed its most illustrious page; and yet we are de- 
feated by a contemptible shower. It is the lost opportunity of a 
lifetime." 

" Console yourself," said Soussigne. " When we were down to 
Braine Alleud, on the verge of the battle-ground, I saw a vener- 
20 



306 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

able old stick, wlio is a guide, and who, although not more than 
fifty years old, fought all through the battle, and was decorated 
on the spot, for his gallantry, by Napoleon. He informed me 
that not long since he had shown ' zee great Zhenerale Zhereedon 
over zee battle-feel.' Now, as the great General Sheridan has 
been over 'zee battle-feel,' and he lives in Chicago, anybody who 
is anxious to get full particulars about Waterloo has only to 
apply to the general, either by letter or in person. The general 
is a good-natured chap, and, not having much to do, will doubt- 
less be very glad to answer all such applications; and, from his 
experience in military matters, his description, I have no doubt, 
will be very full, intelligent and instructive." 

They dawdled around all that day. Madame managed to slip 
out between a couple of showers and sample a few specimens of 
Brussels lace. She returned with the information that for ten 
dollars she could buy a piece of lace which in Chicago would 
cost one hundred and fifty ; that Brussels lace is finer than any 
other made in Belgium, or in the world, and that the spinning 
of the thread is so delicate an operation that it must be done in a 
darkened room, into which only a small bit of light is admitted. 
Mechlin lace, she said, is, or was, made at Malines, Mechlin be- 
ing the French name for the town. She gave much other inter- 
esting information, among which was something to the effect 
that, however cheap Brussels lace may be at Brussels, it can be 
purchased at a considerably lower figure in Paris. 

They had no opportunity for an examination of Brussels, ex- 
cept as they saw it on the way to and from the railway station. 
They saw that there are an old town and a new one ; the former 
being quaint and antiquated, with narrow streets and no side- 
walks. The latter is simply a reproduction of Paris in its archi- 
tecture, its streets, its places, and boulevards. It struck the 
excursionists as being, in the dress and manners of its people, 
the display of its shops, the style of its monuments, and the like, 
a thin imitation of Paris — that is to say, Paris of popular esti- 
mate. Viewed from the west, Brussels is seen reclining on a hill- 
side, and presents a most charming picture. As a whole, the 
excursionists were pleased with it, and wished as they were leav- 
ing it that they could have seen more of it, as the hotel fare and 
accommodations were excellent, the prices reasonable, and 
everybody polite and attentive. 

On the next day, which was a Tuesday in May, A. D. 1878, the 



AMSTERDAM TO THE KIIINE. 307 

excursionists were on board a train, flying nearly due east across 
Belgium, toward Cologne. It was raining, by way of variety. 

" I suppose," said The Commander, " that we are passing 
oyer the most classic ground in Europe — perhaps in the entire 
world. For a score of centuries, the population of Belgium or 
Flanders, under one name or another, has occupied a conspicu- 
ous position in the attention of mankind. The Romans found 
here the most desperate resistance which they encountered in 
their northern march. The Flamands have been overrun by the 
French, by the Danes, and Swedes, by the Spaniards under the 
infamous Duke of Alva, and finally by the French. No country 
has experienced such tremendous changes — has been so barbar- 
ous, so civilized; so poor, so wealthy; so ignorant, so enlight- 
ened ; so given to superstition, and yet so tolerant ; so reduced to 
slavery, and yet so free. I believe it is the first state which at- 
tempted the management of railways by the government; and, 
according to all accounts, the experiment has proved a grand 
success. Fares are lower than in any other country in the world, 
and travel is many times greater in proportion to population. I 
am not certain that, in order to end the railway troubles in Amer- 
ica, we may have to " 

" Oh, just see there! " exclaimed Madame, pointing to a plowed 
field, across which a cow, with distended udders, and a horse 
twice as high as the cow, were harnessed together, and wfere drag- 
ging an enormous harrow. A woman in a blue frock, a tight- 
fitting cap, and wooden shoes, was driving the queer team, while 
a man, with a pipe in his mouth, stood at one end of the plowed 
field, and seemed to be overseeing the operations of the others, 
"Now, isn't that a blistering shame?" continued Madame, with 
hot indignation. "See that brute of a man, dawdling there, 
while that poor woman wades through the heavy ground! " 

" Madame," said Soussigne, " you don't look below the surface. 
Now, that to me is the most beautiful and poetical thing I have 
seen in many a day." 

" Why, what do you mean ? " 

" I mean that when one looks at that scene properly he sees in 
it something touching beyond description or comprehension. He 
sees in it an illustration of woman's holy devotion to the other 
sex. The true rendering of what you see, or saw, is that that 
woman loves her husband. Yes, madame, loves him too well to 
permit him to weary his dear limbs, to soil his beloved feet — " 



308 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" Oh, nonsense ! " said Madame, turning lier head away, and 
cutting short Soussigne's remarks by gazing out of the opposite 
window. 

They flew along, noticing that every inch of Belgic soil is cul- 
tivated. They saw grains of every kind ; and instead of great 
square fields devoted to a particular species, they noted that the 
face of the country is agreeably diversified, like a chess board, 
by a succession of small patches, each of which was sowed or 
planted with a difi'erent grain. The deep green of wheat lay 
next to the dark-hued rye ; the straight and slender barley con- 
trasted harmoniously with the mazy and sinuous potato-tops. 
Everywhere thrift, industry, and a promise of plenty. Groups, 
composed of men, women and children, were seen in every 
wheat-field, uprooting invading weeds ; cows were at work drag- 
ging cultivators through the potato drills ; dogs were hauling 
light carts along the narrow roads. Nowhere anything unem- 
ployed ; no person idle. 

Suddenly the train drew up at a station. The doors were flung 
open, and a heavily-bearded face, with a head surmounted by a 
military cap of a new pattern, was thrust in, and the party or- 
dered, in the hoarsest and most guttural of German, to descend. 

" Halloo! " said Soussigne, "here we are on the North Side." 

" What do you mean ? " queried The Commander. 

" Why, that we've crossed the Chicago river and struck the 
Nord Seite. This place is Herbesthal. We are in Germany. 
Don't you recognize that roar outside? It's North Clark street. 
I begin to feel as though there was an alderman to be elected, 
and I ought to go out and ask the crowd to have some lager." 

They dismounted, passed through the custom-house, had their 
few dozen traps passed on, entered another car, and then went 
thundering along German soil toward Cologne. 

There was a great change. The small fatigue-cap of the Belgic 
conductor was succeeded by an immense one with an overhang- 
ing crown, such as is worn by the German soldiery. There was 
a sliunt in the language. In place of the low nasal of the French 
there was the hoarse, imperative roar of the Deutsch. In all the 
stations in Belgium, the waiting-rooms, tickel^ofiice, eating-rooms, 
and so forth are shown by signs conveying the necessary infor- 
mation in Flemish, German and French. In the German stations, 
with a sturdy disregard for all other nationalities, the same infor- 
mation is given only in the vernacular. The Belgic conductors 



AMSTERDAM TO THE RHINE. 309 

"were polite ; the German conductors thundered their demands for 
billets with the brusqueness and volume of voice employed by a 
boatswain in giving orders in a storm to reefers in the main-top. 
All of the blond officers in spectacles who came along, seemed 
to have in their faces the proud intimation that they had just 
licked France, and were prepared to serve the rest of mankind 
after the same fashion, at the earliest opportunity. 

Everywhere soldiers in blue, a majority with spectacles or eye- 
glasses, with the broad-crowned fatigue cap, thrown bravely up 
in front, and bearing themselves as if they had just come from 
Sedan. Fine-looking specimens are they, too; broad of chest, 
square as to shoulders, straight as ramrods, and moving with an 
easy grace, and a sturdy, powerful swing. 

Thus the excursionists moved along North Clark street till to- 
ward evening, when they saw in the flat distance a mass of gray 
lying low on the horizon. This swiftly uplifted itself in Gothic 
outlines and vast dimensions, till, a little later, when at a hotel 
at its base, they found themselves on the banks of the Rhine, and 
under the great shadows of Cologne's famed cathedral. 

It rained. Nevertheless they rode a little while before dark 
around the mazy, ancient, narrow streets of Cologne. They stood 
for a moment beneath the sublime arches of the cathedral. They 
vpent up to Farini's and bought some bottles of eau de Cologne, 
so as to be sure to get it from the fountain-head ; and then, as it 
became dark, they returned to the hotel. 

The Commander and Soussigne sat in the salon, discussing the 
situation. The Shade stood behind a chair, balancing himself 
on one foot, as usual, and yawning dismally when he thouglit no- 
body was looking. Madame, fatigued by the day's journey, had 
retired. 

" I do hope," said The Commander, " that we may have fair 
weather for our trip on the Rhine, to-morrow." 

"Yes," said Soussigne,"! hope so, too. There are so many 
places of interest, all of which will be new to me. By the way, 
I wonder if, before reaching Mayence, we pass "Worms ? " 

" I'm sure I don't know," said The Commander, with a queer 
look in his eyes. 

Just then The Shade rushed out of the room in what seemed 
lannecessary haste ; and a moment later, Soussigne, bidding The 
■Commander good night, followed him, 

Hearing a choking sound in the opposite corner of the room 



310 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 



as he entered it, Soussigne glanced over and saw The Shade 
nearly bent double and evidently in a paroxysm of some kind. 
He had stuffed the bolster from the sofa into his mouth, and was 
now engaged in ramming in a boot-jack and a pair of blacking 
brushes, while all the time he was wildly swinging his arms and 
giving utterance to broken sounds. 




■ EE-YAK ! YAH ! EE-YAH ! 



" What in heaven's name is the matter with youf " asked Sous- 
signe, in great alarm. 

" Yah ! yah ! e-yah ! " came in choking gutturals from the Sen- 
egambian — "E-yah! Oh, de laud gaud amity! Passin' — E-yah! 
E-yah! Oh, golly! Yah! Wums! Oh, e-yah! Passin' — E-yah! 
E-yah ! Yah ! Oh, de good gaud ! " And then with an " e-yah " 
that shook the hotel like an explosion of dynamite, he crammed 



UP THE RHINE. 311 

the last brush into his mouth, and fled out into the hall and dis- 
appeared. 

Musing upon the singular actions of The Shade, and wonder- 
ing whether it might not be hj^drophobia, or something, Sous- 
signe betook himself to his couch. 



LETTER XLVII. 

UP THE RHINE. 

On-the-Wing, June 21, 1878. 

"Xirs^THEN the excursionists left the hotel at 8 : 30 the next 
^AcJ^liP morning, to go to the boat, it was raining as if it had 

•^ not rained before since the flood. The even-tempered 
Commander began to become a trifle ruffled under the persistent 
down-pour, tlie more especially as it was now raining on the day 
which of all days should have been a pleasant one. His lips as- 
sumed the shape that they would naturally in giving expression 
to an ejaculation which might be profane, but would certainly 
be emphatic. They went up the gangway, climbed to the upper 
deck, and took a seat under the canvas which was extended so as 
to serve as an awning. 

Just then a terrible clattering was heard on the stairway lead- 
ing up from the gang-plank. Soussigne rushed over there, and 
saw that the racket was being made by The Shade. He was 
loaded down with the regular dozen or fifteen hand-bags, satch- 
els, shawls, umbrellas, and the like ; and in addition, had slung 
around his neck, by a stout cord, a couple of enormous wooden 
articles which looked not unlike old-fashioned bed-troughs or a 
couple of large canoes. These, banging about against the other 
packages and the railing, were the cause of the tremendous 
clatter. 

"What in thunder have you got there?" asked Soussigne. 
"Are you bringing along a couple of private life-boats?" 

" Dese yere," responded The Shade, with an expression of m- 
tense disgust, " ain't no life-boats ; deyse a paar o' wooden shoes 
dat de Madame is a goin' to take home wid her." 



312 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" Oh, I see. Madame," said he, as he came to where that lady 
was seated, " your two new wooden trunks have come aboard." 

" What new wooden trunks ?" 

" There they are. The Shade is going to see the captain, and 
have him rig a derrick so as to lower them down off his neck." 

"Trunks! Those are a pair of wooden shoes that I bought in 
Cologne. I am going to take them home and exhibit them as 
curiosities." 

" Oh, I beg pardon. You had them made to measure, I sup- 
pose of course. Have you tried them on so you are quite sure 
they are not too small for you ? " 

" I dunno what to do wid dem dam tings," said The Shade a 
short time after to Soussigne. " Dey won't go into any ob de big 
trunks, an' I s'pose I'se got to take 'em aroun' my neck all over 
Europe." 

" Put the big trunks into them, and get some wheels for them, 
and then you'll get along without any trouble." 

There was notliing to see except low, flat, uninteresting shores 
from Cologne to Bonn. The rain poured in torrents ; and every- 
body took advantage of the opportunity to relieve himself of a 
cargo of ill-humor. The Shade had taken the initiative. Sous- 
signe followed suit. 

"I'm getting sick," said he, "of this infernal currency busi- 
ness. In England, with sovereigns and shillings, there is no 
trouble, nor is there any witli the francs and centimes in France 
and Belgium. In Holland, it was florins, gulden and cents. Now 
we have struck this enlightened country, it is sometliing else. 
Now, how much do you suppose all that is worth?" and he drew 
from his bulging pockets a couple of handfuls of coins. 

"I don't know," said The Commander; "but it looks like a 
small fortune." 

" I don't know, either," said Sovissigne; "but as near as I can 
make it out, it takes about one hundred of these to make one 
nothing; then, one hundred nothings are equal to about the one- 
half of an American cent. For a franc, this morning, I got a 
dozen cigars and about a quart and a half of this stuff. What 
with sovereigns, half-crowns, pennies, ha'pence, francs, sous, cen- 
times,' florins, gulden, cents, marks, pfennigs, kreutzers, and sil- 
bergroschen, my intellect is getting tied into a hard knot. What 
I ought to do is to go to a lunatic asylum and get treatment before 
my case becomes chronic." 



TIP THE KHINE. 313 

"Wheu we get home," said The Commander, " we must go in 
for a world's congress and a universal currency." 

" It's provoking beyond all endurance," said Madame, whose 
turn had now come, " that we can't have a single day of sun- 
shine!. We have not seen the sUn for twenty minutes since we 
left London. I'm sure that, having endured all this horrible 
weather, we are entitled to at least one fair day for our trip up 
the Rhine. If we had only gone to Paris first - — " 

" Console yourself, Madame," said Soussigne, "^there's no mis- 
fortune wholly without compensation. The region we are to pass 
through to-dajr is as sombre as it can be made by spooks, goblins, 
the wails of wandering and damned souls, the shrieks of mur- 
dered victims and ravished virgins, the howls of demons, and the. 
moans of unshriven wretches whose souls went out red-handed to 
wander forever among the black recesses of this sinister re- 
gion." 

"Ugh! " said Madame, with a little shiver. 

"All this should be seen, not by the innocent and happy light 
of the sun, but only through the gray and solemn atmosphere 
which covers yonder hills and mountains like a shroud. The 
surroundings are eminently fit and proper for a section where the 
devil and his imps, in one guise and another, had full sway for 
centuries, where rapine, murder, torture, imprisonment, and un- 
ceasing diabolical agencies were everywhere the salient features. 
Suppose," continued he, "that in order to change the drift of our 
melancholy thought, I read you a short poem ? I have here a 
little book entitled ' The Legends of the Rhine,' which I bought 
in Cologne. It is a translation from the German of F. J. Kieffer, 
by a genius named L. W. Garnham, B. A. Mr. Garnham, B. A., 
deserves encouragement. A few miles below Cologne is a place 
named Kevlaar, and which has a shrine where Virgin Mary is 
said to have dwelt, and where the sick resort, or did resort, to be 
healed. Heinrich Heine wrote a poem concerning this pious 
legend which Mr. Garnham, B. A., translates. I am sure you 
would like to hear a few verses of it." And then Soussigne 
read : 

THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR. 

At the window stood the mother, 
In the hed the son lay. 
"Will you not rise, William, 

The procession will not stay?" 



314 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

"I am so very ill, oh mother, 
That I do not hear and see; 
I think on the dead Gretchen, 
My thoughts much pain me." 

"Kise, we will go to Kevlaar, 
Book and chaplet with might; 
The Holy Virgin will cure yoa 
And your sick heart quiet. 

" There wave the church flags, 
The holy tones I mention ; 
That is at Collen on the Rhine, ,■ 

There goes the procession." 

The mother follows the crowd, 

The son whom she leads. 
They sing both in chorus; 

With praised Mary she pleads! 

The Holy Mother at Kevlaar 

"Wears to-day her best dress ; 
To-day she has much to do. 

Many sick in great distress. 

The sick people bring 

Her there as offer-benefactioii, 
Of wax-formed limbs 

Both feet and hands all waxen. 

And who a wax -hand offers. 

Receives on hand the cure ; 
And who wax-foot offers, 

The foot will heal that's sure. 

To Kevlaar went many on crutches, 

Who now dance so stealthy. 
Indeed many now play the viol, 

Who formerly were not healthy. 

" This is not all," said Soussigne, " but that is enough of it to 
give you an idea as to the touching legend and Mr. Garnham 
B. A.'s exquisite handling. I may say that Rise William was 
cured in a most substantial manner — that is to say, he offered the 
wax-heart, prayed for relief, went to sleep, and woke up dead. 
The poem says : 

The mother beheld all in a dream, 

And seen more, but hark! 
She awoke from her slumber, 

The dogs so loudly bark. 

There lay stretched out 
Her son, and he was dead." 



UP THE KHINE. 31& 

"Ah me! how touching! " said Madame, as she proceeded to 
softly wipe her eyes. 

«' That is not Mr. Garnham's best by any means," said Sous- 
signe ; " it is not well to become too much aftected at once. We- 
will reserve other agonies and other beauties for later perusal." 

A few miles above Cologne the country begins to rouse itself 
from its lethargy. It is a sleeping, motionless sea, which sud- 
denly swells into enormous waves which roll off to the southward 
till lost in the horizon. 

" That town," said a communicative Englishman, who was ou 
a tour with a patient-looking wife and two slender slips of girls 
with flaxen hair, prominent feature and preposterous hats, " is 
Bonn, and those great hills rising up to the left are the Sevea 
Mountains. One of them is the Drachenfels, on whose top is a 
castle, and in the side there, you see, is a great cavern where a 
voracious dragon used to live and eat people." 

"Oh yes," said Madame, "I remember that Byron wrote a 
poem in which he speaks of 

The castled crag of Drachenfels. 

How charming! You don't suppose that there was a real dragon 
there, do you, who used to eat people ? " 

" Certainly," answered Soussigne, " Mr. Harper's guide-book 
says so ; and the Harpers are gentlemen of too much character 
to tell an untruth. They might crib an English book, but they 
wouldn't misrepresent facts, because that would be unchristian^ 
as well as ungentlemanly, you know." 

The Madame made a sketch of Drachenfels as they flew by it, 
and which was very creditable considering that it was taken on 
the wing. 

" We might fancy," said The Commander, " that we were gomg 
up the Hudson river, if we only had the right kind of a boat. If 
an American company had the management we should see a 
very different class of conveyance. This thing is not even a fair 
second-hand ferry-boat. Its paddles are not more than six feet 
in diameter, and it is narrow and ugly in appearance. With fair 
weather and a Hudson river boat, this trip might have been made 
a most delightful one." 

Just above Bonn they passed a small island in the river. Op- 
posite, on the south bank, are seen the ruins of a castle. 



316 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

"Where those ruins are," said the English volunteer, "a great 
knight once fell in love with the daughter of the owner. He 
went to war and was reported to be killed. The young lady 
thereupon entered a convent which was upon the island, and 
took the vows. The knight came back after a while and spent 
the rest of his life in gazing down from the castle into the nun- 
nery to catch an occasional glimpse of his beloved one." 

" How very touching such devotion," said Madame. 

"What an immaculate ass he must have been," said Soussigne. 
"The world is full of women, and why an ablc-boJied man should 
make a bellows of himself and spend his life in sighing over one 
of them, I can't understand. This story can't be true. Men and 
women don't act in that way. In reality, the young woman, 
upon hearing the reported death of her lover, would have con- 
soled herself by a suit of the latest and most becoming style of 
mourning, and then calmly awaited another offer. If this is the 
kind of stuff these Rhine legends are made of, I shall have no 
confidence in any of them.'' 

" You are very unfeeling," was Madame's response. 

"Andernach," said somebody, as not long afterward there 
came into view, on the right, a handsome old town, nestled cosily 
at the foot of the hills. 

" If I remember," said The Commander, " Andernach was once 
visited by Julius Cassar, and has played an important part in 
modern wars." 

"Is it not of this place," asked Madame, "that Longfellow has 
given in ' Hyperion ' a very pretty legend ? " 

" Yes," said Soussigne, " it is about a man with a ladder and a 
lantern who used to go about nights patching leaky roofs and 
mending old boots and kettles; and nobody could find out who 
he was, or why he took such an erratic course. I don't believe 
that yarn, either." 

"Besides its improbability," said The Commander, "I must 
look on such fabrication as demoralizing. They are a premium 
on laziness. They induce people to let their thatches go un- 
mended, in the hope that some supernatural philanthropist will 
come along in the night and tinker them up. All these rotting 
old towers along the river seem to show that the people are all 
waiting for somebody to do for them what they ought to do for 
themselves." 



UP THE KIIINE. 31 T 

This utilitarian view of the case produced a warm " 'ear t 
'ear! " of approval from the Eaglishman. 

The boat puffed slowly along against the swift current, whose 
muddy hue reminded the travelers of the Mississippi. There 
were hills, and long winding ravines, and terraced vineyards. 
Now the heights came close to the water's edge, and then retired 
into the distance, leaving little plains upon which are gathered a 
few gray old houses, which seem the creation of other centuries. 
Thus they glided along until suddenly a bend in the river 
brought them into view, on the right, of Coblentz, and on the 
left of Ehrenbreitstein. The bluffs at this point come close to 
the river and rise with scarcely any slope to the height of hun- 
dreds of feet. All the front, the summit, the adjacent ravines, are 
a network of fortifications. A wall of enormous thickness runs 
along the foot of tiie hills, following the bend of the stream and 
pierced for musketry and cannon. It has a well five hundred 
and eighty feet deep, and cisterns which will hold water enough 
to last a garrison three years. The fortress is said to be the 
strongest in Europe ; and although it has been captured by the 
French, its present condition is such under Prussian manage- 
ment that there seems little likelihood of there being an early 
repetition of a French occupation. All these facts, together with 
the additional one that it was formerly a Roman camp, and that 
it can accommodate one hundred thousand men, if necessary, 
were communicated by Soussigne to the party, as they were 
rounding to, to land at Coblentz. 

"I will not deceive you," he said, with an air of unspeakable 
candor. " I got it all from a guide-book, which is as necessary 
to a traveler as an encyclopaedia to an editor." 

"I wonder," said Madame, " when we shall reach Lurlei?" 

" What's Lurlei ? '' queried The Commander. 

"What! Don't you know about Lurlei? Why, it's the most 
celebrated part of the Rhine. Here is where the scenery is finest 
and where there is a great whirlpool. There is a siren who lives 
on the side of the mountain, and when a boat passes she sings so 
beautifully that the men stop to listen, and then they are drawn 
into the whirlpool and are all drowned. Oh, it is exquisite ! " 

" What's ' exquisite,' " asked Soussigne " the singing of the 
siren, or the drowning of the men?" 

" Oh, I mean the legend, of course." 

"Ah, yes! Well, I can't see anything very 'exquisite' in such 



518 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

an arrangement. If it were some chap who sits up there, and 
sings and drowns women by the operation, you would probably 
think it anything but ' exquisite.' I think when we get there I'll 
land, and go up, part my hair in the middle, put on a swallow- 
tail and sing a few staves myself. Then when you ladies are 
kicking and splashing around in the fatal whirlpool, you will 
have some pity for the poor devils of men, because you will 
know how it is yourself. I wonder, by the way," he continued, 
" what Garnham, B. A., has to say about Lurlei. Ah, yes, here he 
is on hand like a thousand of brick! There is a young chap 
who falls in love witli the siren. One night he gets near her 
grotto, and, says Garnham, B. A, 'he expressed his longing in 
low singing, and, casting his glances to the height, there hovered 
jound the top of the rock a brightness of unequaled clearness 
and color, and in increasingly smaller circles thickened, was the 
enchanting figure of the beautiful Lore.' Charming, isn't it? 
The next night he goes around, and sings to her as follows : 

Once I saw thee in dark night, 
In supernatural beauty bright; 
Of light rays was the figure wove, 
To share its light locked-hair strove. 

Thy garment color wave-dove, 
By thy hand the sign of love, 
Thy eyes sweet enchantment. 
Raying to me, oh ! entrancement. 

Oh, wert thou but my sweetheart 
How willingly thy love to part! 
With delight I should be bound 
To thy rocky house in deep ground. 

" As might be expected, the singing of such stuflE" raised the 
very d — 1. Flames rose out of the waters, the waves surged about 
the lover, and engulphed him. The next day the old man went 
to hunt for his sou. He corrals the fairy and demands his son. 
She points to the depths and sings : 

There below stands in the wave's womb 
Crystal-clear my fine castle tomb, 
There conducted I my darling expected, 
Whom already long since I have selected. 

"Touching, isn't it?" said Soussigne. "Here is one more 
poem, which might have been written by ' the sweet singer of 



UP THE RHINE. 319 

Michigan, but isn't, because Garnham, B. A., says he has trans- 
lated it from Heinricli Heine." 

And then Soussigue read in liis low, musical voice, the fol- 
lowing : 

THE LORE-LEI. 

I do not know what it signifies, 

That I am so sorrowful ! 
A fable of old times so terrifies, 

Leaves my heart so thoughtful. 

The air is cool and it darkens, 

And calmly flows the Rhine ; 
The summit of the mountain hearkens 

In evening sunshine line. 

The most beautiful maiden entrances 

Above wonderfully there, 
Her beautiful golden attire glances, 

She combs her golden hair. 

With golden eomb so lustrous, 

And thereby a song sings. 
It has a tone so wondrous. 

That powerful melody rings. 

The shipper in the little ship 

It effects with woes sad might; 
He does not see the rocky clip. 

He only regards the dreaded height. 

I believe the turbulent waves 

Swallow at last shipper and boat; 
She with her singing craves 

All to visit her magic moat. 

And thus chatting, the excursionists went on toward the fatal 
Lurlei, with its overhanging rocks, its swift current, its voracious 
whirlpool and its sinister memories, 



320 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER XLVIII. 

UP THE RHINE. 

On-thb-Wing, June 24, 1878. 

tHE boat bearing the excursionists reached the Lurlei and 
passed its majestic rocks, througli its magnificent scenery, 
and by the famous and dreaded wliirlpool, without expe- 
riencing any liarm. No siren made her appearance in the densely- 
wooded liillsides, combing lier long tresses and singing a song to 
woo the travelers to destruction. Soussign6 suggested that she 
might be absent shopping, or was out making a friendly call on 
some other siren, and that the two, absorbed in discussing the 
latest fashions, or some scandal about some other siren, had not 
noticed the arrival and passage of the boat. "Whatever may have 
been the cause, the excursionists were not the less grateful for 
their escape. 

" It would have been a nasty, damp thing," said one of the 
party, " to be drowned in such weather as this. To have the job 
a pleasant and comfortable affair, one should be drowned during 
the dry season. Why, the way it rains now, we should have 
all been soaking wet before we struck the water." 

Not long after passing the dangerous Lurlei, they came to a 
large rock in the middle of the river. 

"This," said their English informant, "is one of what was 
formerly a range of rocks, and which was known as the ' Seven 
Sisters.' The legend is that there were once several young ladies, 
sisters, who refused all the offers of marriage which came along, 
and then, as a punishment, were turned into rocks." 

Soussignfe averred that he didn't believe the statement. "That 
is not like the sex," he said; "one might believe it if it were 
said that they were thus punished for accepting every off"er which 
they received, and being at the same time engaged to all the 
eligible young men in the neighborhood. And, moreover, turn- 
ing women into stone is impossible for the same reason that it is 
impossible to turn water into — water. These Rhine legends are 
as improbable as the promises of a Chicago ward politician made 
to his constituents before election." 

" It is rather a burlesque on religion," said The Commander, 
"that wherever there is a ruined castle which was once the 



UP THE RHINE. 



321 




21 



322 SKETCHES EEYOND THE SEA. 

residence of a Rhine robber, tliere is always a cliurcli in the 
vicinity. Whenever we come in sight of a steeple I always look 
for a castle on a neighboring height, and generally find it. I 
suppose they went to the churches to pray for success before 
starting out on a raid of robbery and throat-cutting, and to return 
thanks when they came back loaded with booty and the scalps 
of their neighbors. There is, however, one creditable fact, and 
that is that the churches stand, while the castles are in ruins, 
showing that in the end, the fittest has survived." 

Not the least charming of the region through which they were 
passing were the vineyards. This was especially the case between 
Lurlei and Bingen, in what is termed the " Rheingau," and which 
is probably the most noted of the Rhenish wine-growing regions. 
Through here, and more particularly on the north bank, the 
steep liills are cultivated wherever there is a slope which lies at 
the proper angle to the sun. The efTect of the dark green of the 
vines against the brown earth, and the effect, in turn, of these set 
with surroundings of the dense and gloomy forests, was fine 
beyond description. 

"Along here," said the accommodating and well-informed 
Englishman, "are produced some of the finest and most expen- 
sive, of the Rhine wines. The labor involved is extraordinary 
and almost incredible. In nearly every instance of the vineyards 
along the north bank the earth has to be carried from the low- 
lands below. Almost every foot of these brown patches has been 
carried up these steep heights and around these dangerous preci- 
pices in baskets on the heads or shoulders of men and women." 

"There appear to be other slopes less precipitous and danger- 
ous," said one of the party, " which are not cleared. Why are 
they not used in preference to the others ? " 

"Because they lack some essential feature. Their slope is not 
just the proper one, or they are not protected from the wind by 
the intervention of some other height. All of these unused 
declivities would probably grow a fair article of wine, but none 
of them have precisely everything needed to perfect the grape, 
as is the case with those in use. In this Rheingau district the 
cultivation of the vine was introduced by the Romans, of course 
many centuries ago, and is now carried on to the highest possible 
result." 

"Is this the vicinity" queried The Commander, "that the 
Johannisberger wine is produced ? " 



UP THE KHINE. 323 

" Yes. The entire extent of the Johannisberger vineyard is 
less than one hundred acres. Probably, however, the amount of 
* Johannisberger wines,' so-called, put on the market could not be 
grown from fifty times as many acres. The same is true of the 
Hockheimer wines. The entire product of the Hockheimer vine- 
yards is only about a dozen casks per annum ; and yet perhaps 
more than this quantity of ' Hockheimer ' is sold and consumed 
in each of the large cities through Christendom." 

Thus innocently prattling, the excursionists went steadily on 
up the river. They passed a castle on almost every height; they 
went by Assmannshausen, whose vineyards produce a wine as 
red as the hues of sunset; by Bingen, concerning which every 
young lady in Chicago was once howling in a pathetic ballad, 
whose burden was, " Bingen on the Rhine ; '' on by terraced 
slopes, frowning heights, and great ravines in shadow, which 
were always rushing at them from out the landscape, as they 
wound about along the devious stream — and thus on, ever prat- 
tling like innocent children, they came within sight of Rii- 
desheim. 

"This town,'' said the Englishman, " is full of interest. Char- 
lemagne once lived here; that high, oblong tower was built by 
the Romans, and the vineyards produce the Rudesheimerberg — 
a very famous and excellent article." 

" What a charming old ruin! " said Madame enthusiastically, 
as she took out her material in order to sketch it. " I wonder 
what its legend is, for of course it must have one." 

" Certainly," answered Soussigne. " Mr. Garnham, B. A., tells 
us all about it. A knight lived there once who had a beautiful 
daughter. He went away to kill a few Saracens, and while 
engaged in this truly Christian operation, some of the Saracens 
surprised him and ' took him into camp.' They threw him into 
a dungeon, whereupon, after standing it a few months, he vowed 
if released to build a convent and make his daughter the first 
nun. Providence, seduced by this bribe, let him out. He went 
home, and after kissing his daughter a few times, he informed 
her of his vow, and the felicity which was in store for her. 
Meanwhile, as some young women occasionally do, she had 
fallen in love with a handsome young Rhinelander, and as a 
matter of course she preferred white, orange blossoms, and a 
wedding trip to Paris, where she could do her shopping, rather 
than a black stuff gown and a diet of black bread, with eternal 



324: SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

celibacy. After the old man had informed the young lady of the 
happiness he had in view for her, she fell down in a fit, and was 
thenceforth as crazy as a loon. Here is the sad denoument, ac- 
cording to Garuham, B. A." Soussigne then read as follows: 

" She wandered through, like a spirit, the wide corridors of 
the castles, and once as a raging storm ploughed through the 
waves of the Rhine at the midnight hour, and the howling tem- 
pest broke the oaks of the near forest, the unfortunate one crept 
to her father's bed, whimpered him farewell, hastened then to 
the balcony, and pi-ecipitated herself into the Rhine. The hasten- 
ing after father came too late, to be able to restrain her ; he only 
saw her waving garments disappear in the profound depths. 

" Grief and remorse now embittered the life of the childless 
old man. It is true he omitted nothing, to restore his diseased 
mind, and he not only accomplished the building of the convent 
to calm his conscience, but also tried by other means, indeed by 
mixing himself in quarrels, and the pleasures of hunting to pro- 
cure himself distraction ; but neither private warfare nor hunt- 
ing, could deafen the torment of his conscience." 

" How very sad ! " said Madame in a voice which was tremu- 
lous with emotion. 

A little later, the boat reached Mayence, and the journey up 
the Rhine was finished. 

"I always had an idea," said Soussigne, as they were seated 
that evening at dinner in the hotel, "that the journey up the 
Rhine occupies two or three weeks, instead of the ten hours in 
which we have made it." 

" And as for me," said The Commander, " I never had much of 
an idea about it. Accounts of trips up the Rhine are usually so 
smothered in poetry, gush, and exaggerated description, that 
until this visit, I had no more conception of the Rhine than if I 
had never seen it. It would probably be a revelation to most 
people who have not visited the Rhine in person, to inform them 
that all that is worth seeing can be seen in a few hours' ride, and 
that the scenery nowhere has any elements of grandeur, being 
simply a very picturesque arrangement of river, hills, vineyards, 
winding ravines, and ruined towers. In no essential respect can 
it compare with the Wasatch and Sierra Nevada scenery in the 
United States." 

" It's great charm, I think," said Madame, " is found in its 
hoary associations, its reaching back to the very childhood of 



UP THE RHINE. 325 

man, and its beautiful legends which seem to embody every 
phrase of human development." 

The Commander was still in haste to reach a warmer climate ; 
and so, the next morning early, they boarded a train, and went 
rushing off to the south. By getting up at daylight, Soussigne 
had managed to get a partial look over Mayence — the city where 
Drusus was once encamped, where the Emperor Constantine was 
located, which is famous for the splendor of its former archiepis- 
copal rulers ; which was once the most famous stronghold on the 
Rhine; and which — greatest thing of all — is the birth-place of 
Gutenberg. Soussigne saw the quaint old house in which G-uten- 
berg was born, the statue of the great printer, the wonderful old 
cathedral of red sand-stone ; and many remnants of works erected 
by the Roman invaders. He concluded that it is a very nice city 
to visit, but so utterly unlike Chicago that it would be a most 
undesirable city to live in, or even to die in. 

The train rushed along through a most charming country. 
To the travelers' right was the wide, level bottom-land of the 
Rhine ; to their left was a succession of heights, valleys, forests, 
beautiful and romantic beyond description, and which has a 
thousand times been written about as the region of Odenwald. 
Historical and scholastic Heidelberg was reached and passed. 
Carlsruhe came along in due season, and was succeeded by 
Preidburg, with its host of historical vicissitudes ; and then the 
train rushed in from the open country to the Rhine, along whose 
rocky east bank it tore around curves, through tunnels, and 
across ravines, till a little before dark, it came to a halt in Bale, 
the northmost city of Switzerland. A half-hour later the excur- 
sionists were seated on a balcony of a hotel. Beneath them 
went the foaming, furious torrents of the Rhine, just leaving here 
its mountain cradle to commence its long and variegated jour- 
ney to the Northern ocean. 

"How did you stand the journey to-day?" asked Soussigne, a 
little later, of The Shade, whom lie found leaning against the arch 
of the doorway, his countenance expressing only intense disgust. 

" Dam bad," was the rather profane answer. 

" Bad ? What was the trouble ? " 

" Trouble enuff ! Duz you remember dat yere Englishwoman 
on de boat yesterday, wat sat on de deck all day wid her feet on 
a stool, an' her head under a big umberrill, and who never lookt 
once at all dem hills, an' cassels an' tings ? " 



326 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 



" O, yes, I remember her. She looked so lonely that I went up 
and spoke to her, but she bluffed me so, I had to leave instanter." 

"Well, dat yere ole cat was in de secon-class car ware I was. 
You jess bet she talked fass enuff den." 

" She did ? What did she have to say ? " 

" Oh, it was de cussedest an' curiosses string o' stuff I ever 
lissened to. I cuddent tell you de tousant part on it. Fust she 
ast me if I lubbed de Lord, an' wen I tole her I spected I diddent 
know fur certain, den she rolled up her eyes, and groned like she 




A DISGUSTED NIGGER. 

wos a sick boss. An' den she ast me sposin' de cars shud run 
off de track an' I wos killed, wot I wos goin' to do about it. An'' 
den I tole her dam if I know, an' den she tole me I was an offal 
sinner; an' she give me a beep o' traks, an' all sorts o' Sunday 
skool truck, an' jus kep a tawkin an' a tawkin like she wos- 
greased fur it. Nebber had sich a missoobul day in all my life. 
By golly, she jus moren worrid de seben sensus clean out o' me. 
I cuddent git shut o' her no how. I ain't wuff a dam to-night, I 
ain't ! " and so saying with a most woe-begone countenance The 
Shade went out and mingled with the darkness. 



THROUGH THE ALPS. 327 

LETTER XLIX. 

THROUGH THE ALPS. 

On-the-Wing, June 37, 1878. 

rg\Y the first train the excursionists went southward from 
Bale, toward a warmer clime. Up to this morning it had 
rained every day since they had left London. It was still 
cold, although the first of June. Summer seemed loth to enter 
upon its regular annual campaign among the mountains, prefer- 
ring apparently to linger in the classic plains of Italy. Although 
the air was cold it was bracing and- inspiring. The sun shone 
with a clear light, touching brilliantly the clover blossoms of up- 
land meadows through which they were running. The fragrance 
of flowers came in harmonious bursts through the open car- 
windows. It was a charming change from the monotonous bot- 
tomlands of the Rhine through which they had passed the day 
before. 

" How lovely! " exclaimed Madame as she inhaled the richly, 
perfumed air, and her eye took in an expanse gorgeous with 
blossoms and heavy with the massive green of orchards and 
groves nestling about the farm-houses. " How unique everything 
is," she continued. "See those quaint farm-houses with their 
steep roofs, and which descend so as to form a covered way on 
either side. What a subject for a picture ! " 

" Very fine," said Soussigne, but still I don't think this region 
is as attractive, especially for a woman, as the Rhine, the Oden- 
■wald, and the Black Forest, through wdiich, for the last two days, 
we have been passing." 

" No ? Why not ? " 

" Because the Swiss are a plain, common-sense people, given 
to the manufacture of honey, cheese, wooden images, and the 
making of money. There is no Rhine or Black Forest non- 
sense in their legends. They have no ruined castles, no rocks 
which were once women, no love stories; in short, no nothing. 
The only romance they have is concerning Tell and Gessler " 

" Who," said The Commander, " are known to have never ex- 
isted in reality. The same story in one guise or another appears 
in the legends of a half-dozen nations. It may at some time, 
have had a foundation of truth ; but in the present case it only 



328 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

typifies the Swiss hatred of oppression, and their determination 
to liill a tyrant rather than to submit to him. I believe that 
Switzerland is to-day the freest and most perfect type of a repub- 
lic in existence. The form of government is verj^ simple, being 
conducted at a very small expense, and run without friction. 
They have an Assembly which corresponds somewhat to our 
Congress; a Council whose seven members exercise executive 
and administrative authority, and a Tribunal, whose eleven mem- 
bers decide all legal questions relating to the confederacy. In 
many respects the Swiss system is vastly superior to ours ; and 
much of it could be studied and copied with profit by our 
statesmen." 

"Its very simplicity, I am apprehensive," said Soussigne, 
" would render it unpopular in America. Politics in such a case 
would form no trade ; and were we to adopt such a system it 
would throw all our politicians out of business. That wouldn't 
do at all. Politicians must live, you know. I think " 

"And I think," interrupted Madame, "that politics are very 
stupid and tiresome. You are missing all this charming coun- 
try, these odd towns, and ever so many things worth looking at." 

A hint as broad as this could not well be mistaken, and politics 
were dropped like a hot potato. 

They were running across a country almost perfectly level, and 
with nothing resembling a mountain in sight. 

" I thought," said Madame, "that Switzerland is all mountains. 
Where are they ? This looks like an Illinois prairie in a high 
state of cultivation." 

■ " Oh," said Soussigne, who was a great traveler, having been 
to Calumet, Gutenberg, Iowa, and other remote points, " we shall 
have plenty of mountains after a little. There are some Alps 
here somewhere, and we can't keep on at the rate of twelve miles 
an hoiir, in this small country, without running against them in 
coui'se of time. You watch out of your window, and I will out 
of mine, and we'll see who'll pick up a mountain first." 

"Agreed! " said Madame. 

An hour passed, each keeping a vigilant watch for a stray Alp, 
or anything in the shape of a mountain. Gradually the level 
line of the horizon grew wavy and broken. The outlying dis- 
tance began to roll in low swells, as if touched by the first breath 
of a tempest. The swells grew slowly into waves, which rushed, 
now up to the train, and then receded, growing always higher, 



THROUGH THE ALPS. 329 

as if feeling more and more the weight of a coming storm. On 
flew the train, plunging deeper and deeper into the uplifted 
waves, into the turbulent regions of the storm. The plains be- 
came broken into swells, the swells grew into hillocks and hills, 
and the hills grew and rose and mounted until - — - 

" I see some mountains ! " suddenly exclaimed Madame. The 
others rushed to her window and looked out. The train was just 
issuing from a deep ravine which opened into a long vista be- 
tween two lines of broken hills. At the end of this vista, on the 
horizon, slept some vast, black masses whose tops and sides 
showed great pencilings of white, which extended here and there 
Jike reclining clouds. They had barely time to see them when 
the train rounded a curve, and the mountains disappeared behind 
a range of hills. 

" I saw them first, didn't I ? " asked Madame with exultation. 

" Yes, that's so," said the somewhat mortified Soussigne ; " and 
yet I was the first to announce that we should see some mount- 
ains before long.'' 

" Indeed ! As if it required any great genius or foresight to 
foresee that one traveling in Switzerland should see mountains! " 

Soussigne gave it up. 

From this time until they reached Lucerne, the scenery was of 
charming variety. For a few minutes the train would be buried 
in the drifts of the foothills, and then suddenly emerging on 
some plateau, there would flash into view, high up in the sky, 
the solemn and ponderous masses, cloud-kissed and snow- 
crowned. Now the train ran along where the great Colossi 
seemed to hang over the roadway; and they receded and disap- 
peared, and came into view, veiled and softened by the blue haze 
of a great distance. Every few minutes the track crossed some 
mountain stream, whose crystal waters, with a mighty struggle 
and rush, made their way between high and precipitous banks, 
around the bases of jutting promontories, along crevices rent 
through the naked rocks — alwaj's going fiercely and hurriedly, 
as if mad to escape the broken uplands and gain the quiet of 
the plains below. 

" Ah, how beautiful ! " was Madame's incessant exclamation, 
as, with pencil in hand, she sought to fasten on paper the outlines 
of the grander features of the panorama which came and went 
with kaleidoscopic variety and velocity. 

The Commander said nothing, but his glistening eyes and rapt 



330 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

attention showed that he was appreciating the glorious scene ia 
all its sublime entirety. 

Some three or four hours after they had left Bale, the train sud- 
denly came out from the maze of hills, and the excursionists saw 
spread out before them a silvery sheet of water, while around one 
side stretched from the shore of the lake into the very sky the 
tremendous forms of the snow-covered Urner and Engleberger 
Alps. 

" Voila Lucerne ! " said Soussigne, who had been slyly study- 
ing a pocket-map of Switzerland. " Here are the town of Lu- 
cerne, Lake Lucerne, the noted Rigi, the stately Pilatus ; in shorty 
behold one of the loveliest spots in all Switzerland, and perhaps 
in all the world." 

" How long do we stop here ? " asked The Commander. 

"As long as we like, I suppose. Let us wait in the depot 
awhile, and I will make some inquiries." 

Soussigne interviewed several people, and found that the season 
was not yet open. The boats would not commence excursions on 
the lakes for several days. None of the hotels were yet in readi- 
ness for visitors. He reported the situation ; and it was decided 
to wait four hours for the next train to Berne, and during the in- 
terval to see as mucli as was possible of Lucerne. 

A mountain of satchels, almost equaling Pilatus in height, waa 
erected in the waiting-room of the depot, and The Shade placed 
over the whole as a guard. The rest of the party chartered a 
French-speaking liackman, with a comfortable carriage contain- 
ing two seats, and started out to look over the locality. The town 
lies on the borders of the lake, and around it rises an amphi- 
theater of mountains, some dressed to their very necks with gar- 
ments of green ; others, more savage, bare to their waists, as if 
stripped for some gigantic gladiatorial conflict. From out the 
lake runs the river Reuss, about twice as wide as the Chicago 
river, and more than ten times as attractive. The waters have the 
clearness of glass, and they rush along as if time were of the ut- 
most consequence, and they had a train to catch, oy an engage- 
ment further away of the most pressing importance. 

" What is there to be seen," asked The Commander, " apart 
from the natural scenery ? " 

This being interpreted to the driver, he informed them that 
notable sights were to be found in the Garden of the Glaciers; 
and thither accordingly the party was driven. After laboriously 



THROUGH THE ALPS. 331 

climlaing a roadway that ascends a hill, the carriage stopped be» 
fore the door of a high wall. Through this the trio passed, and 
found themselves in a species of garden, on the side of a precip- 
itous hill. Steps cut into the rock lead to a succession of narrow, 
winding terraces, each of which is also cut on the rocky hillside. 
Trellises, arbors, covered-ways, all luxuriantly clad with vines 
and bright with flowers, give the place a fresh and charming 
appearance. 

A guide proffered his services at the entrance. Him they fol- 
lowed up the stone stairways and around the rocky balconies un- 
til they reached a large open space, which, upon first sight,, 
seemed to be composed of holes of various sizes. 

" Please look down into this," said the guide, as he stood upon 
the edge of one of the cavities. The trio stepped up to the verge 
and did as requested. They saw before and beneath them an 
opening into the solid rock, and at the bottom a rounded bowl-' 
der. The cavity is some fifteen feet across the top, and gradually 
narrows, as it descends, until at the bottom it is some three feet 
in diameter, which is a little more than that of the loose bowlder 
at the bottom. 

"How very odd! " exclaimed Madame. "What in the world 
do you suppose it is ? " 

The Commander, having no opinion on the subject, character- 
istically said nothing. Soussign6 ventured the suggestion that it 
might be a sort of devil's mortar and pestle. The guide waited 
until his auditory was quite puzzled and bewildered, and then 
said : 

" Not long ago, the gentleman who owns this ground thought 
he would build a house up here, because it has so commanding a 
view. Workmen commenced to remove the surface soil and un- 
dergrowth, when they came upon these places. They were filled 
with dirt, which was removed, and the result is that all these 
openings were brought to view." 

" But what caused them?" asked one of the party. 

" They are the work of glaciers. It is not long since, in a geo- 
logical sense, that all this region was covered by a descending 
glacier. As it moved, it carried with it fragments of rocks. That 
loose rock you see there at the bottom is granite, and must have 
come from the height of the mountain far above, where it is only 
found. The glacier brought along that rock perhaps from a 
dozen or fifty miles from here. At this point, a portion of the= 



332 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

glacier must have assumed a circular motion, whose result is the 
grinding out of this cavity." 

He then showed them a score or more other openings, all in- 
cluded within the space of a sixteenth of an acre. They diSer 
mainly in size, the largest being ten to fifteen feet across, the 
smallest not more than from three to five. Some are twenty-five 
feet deep, and others not more than five or six. All have the 
round granite bowlder at their bottom. In the case of all, the 
surface of the rock is as smooth as glass, but not always regular 
in its proportions. Some are simply hollowed out evenly all 
the way down, while others are spirals cut in intaglio — some- 
what as if the opening had been molded around a gigantic cork- 
screw. 

" How long," asked The Commander generally, " do you sup- 
pose it took a glacier to grind out one of these openings? " 

Soussigne said he wouldn't like to say to a minute, but he 
should think it must have taken somewhere from five hundred 
and seventy-five thousand centuries to a couple of billions of 
years. " Glaciers," he said, " although they keep busy, are never 
in a hurry. They don't sit around when the foreman isn't look- 
ing, nor do they lay off for noonings. They don't stop for church 
on Sundays, nor quit work and go off" on a spree on the Fourth 
of July or Thanksgiving Day. Still, they don't get ahead quite 
as fast as a locomotive or a chap going from his work to dinner; 
and in my opinion a glacier that managed to turn one of these 
bowlders at the bottom once around in two years was doing 
good work, and should have rated as A 1, and been entitled to full 
wages." 

The guide then proceeded to point out, in various points 
within the wells, fossils, "showing," he said, "that this elevated 
area must once have been the bottom of the ocean." 

Here Madame glanced rather nervously at her watch, and in- 
quired if the same thing was likely to occur again before train 
time. She was calmed by the assurance that it was positively 
certain the ocean would not come that afternoon, owing to pre- 
vious engagements. 

Half way down the Garden of the Glaciers they turned through 
an opening to the left, and found themselves in front of the great- 
est artificial attraction in Lucerne. Before them rose a perpendic- 
ular wall of rock, a hundred or more feet in height. About half way 
up, cut in alto-relief in the face of the rock, is an enormous lion, 



THROUGH THE ALPS. 333 

some thirty feet long by twenty feet in lieiglit, and wlio is rep- 
resented in his dying agonies. A spear is driven into liis side, 
and beneatli liis paw are some lilies which he endeavors to pro- 
tect at his last gasp. Tlie monument commemorates the twenty- 
six officers and some seven hundred soldiers of the Swiss guard, 
who, during the revolution in Paris in August, 1792, were mas- 
sacred at the Tuileries. The model was made by the celebrated 
Thorwaldsen, and the work executed by a Swiss sculptor. 

The thing is unique in conception, and grand in its location 
and surroundings. The mighty rock out of which the work is- 
hewn affords a background — a support — of indescribable dig- 
nity and strength. Far up in the air, the brow of the precipice is 
covered with vegetation, which projiacts and looks not unlike a 
gigantic wreath, in which a commingling of evergreens gives an 
impression of perennial pride and rejoicing. A deep and tran- 
quil pool at the base adds an element of flexible repose which 
harmonizes perfectly with, while it softens, the rigid grandeur 
of the rocky front. 

After this, the party drove for a short time along the lake. They 
visited one of the bridges across the Reuss, beneath whose roof 
are more than a hundred half-ett'aced paintings, representing 
saintly carnivals and scenes in Swiss history. They gazed up 
the long sides of the mountainous amphitheater, admiring its 
rugged contour, and its towering grandeur, and then, it being 
close upon train time, they reluctantly tore themselves away. 

" I duzzen't gib much fur dis yere country," said The Shade, 
confidentially to Soussigne, just before the train started. 

"Why not?" 

" Cos dere's so many hills an' mountains yere, you can't see 
anyting. De prarrarees ob Illinoy is de place where you oughter 
go, ef you want to see something " 

Here a rapid shutting of car-doors cut short The Shade's re- 
marks by forcing everybody to go to his seat. 

Some five hours later the excursionists found themselves in 
Berne, the Swiss capital. 



334 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

LETTER L. 

AMONG THE ALPS. 

On-the-Wing, June 30, 1878. 

tHE excursionists were to leave Berne, the Swiss capital, at 
10:30 A.. M. ; and, as it was long after dark when they 
reached the town, the night before, Soussign^ concluded 
that what he saw of the city must be in the morning. Accord- 
ingly, soon after daylight, a stranger, yawning fearfully, and 
crouching under an umbrella, to escape a cold and driving rain, 
might have been seen wandering about among the dismal streets 
of Berne, and taking in its quaint peculiarities as thoroughly as 
could be done considering the hour and the weather. What he 
saw can perhaps be best told by giving his remarks to the others, 
after they were on the train and going toward Geneva. 

"Thus far," said Soussigne, " Berne is a more characteristic 
town than any I have seen since we started. That is to say, it is 
original, odd, and scarcely at all disturbed by modern or any 
other kind of improvements. To begin at the bottom, it has a 
river called the Aar. This occupies the lowest level along which 
houses are built. Then on the left bank is a range of hills or 
mountains, on which stands the town. There is a second tier 
of houses which begin where the roofs of the river houses leave 
off. Where the latter finish another series commences. You 
walk along among the last-named, and the street suddenly ends 
on a perpendicular precipice, walled up with solid masonry. Be- 
low are the chimneys and steeples of other houses. You go 
down among these, and ver}^ soon you find yourself on a level 
with the roofs of tall houses on a terrace below. It is quite easy 
anywhere in Berne to reach out your hand and play with the 
weathercock on a church-steeple, or to climb to the top of a 
steeple and get a look into the basement windows of the houses 
of a neighbor." 

"How do you get from one level to another?" asked Madame. 

" Principally by the use of stone stairways for pedestrians, and 
steep, winding streets for vehicles. But this system of terraces, 
while nice for drainage, must be inconvenient in a great many 
other respects. How, for instance, are Mrs. Brown and Mrs- 
Smith to lean out of their back windows, and exchange their 



AMONa THE ALPS. 335 

opinions of each other, when one lias to yell up a distance of 
seventy-five or a hundred feet? As a whole, I think Berne is a 
tov?n constructed with a shameful disregard for the conveniences 
of its women. How can two women take any comfort in gossip- 
ing over a back fence that is half a mile high on one side. There's 
■work there for Mrs. Livermore." 

" Anything remarkable in the town otherwise ? " queried The 
Commander. 

" Well, yes. Nearly all the buildings extend over the sidewalk, 
* flush ' with the street, leaving beneath arcades for pedestrians 
♦and traffic. Then there's a cathedral, of course, on one of whose 
fronts is a very fine sculpture of the Last Judgment. As it was 
so early I did not get in, but there is said to be a grand organ 
there, which of course must be inferior to the one in Boston. 
Then, 1 saw everywhere statues, alto-reliefs, and bas-reliefs of 
bears, which animal the Bernese are said to worship. In one of 
the squares is an odd old fountain, spouting the purest of mount- 
ain water, and surmounted by a fat old chap, who is in the act of 
ramming a small plump boy into his mouth, and who has a dozen 
other small boys sticking out of his pocket and from under his 
belt, and which apparently he proposes to eat in a few minutes. 
Sensible people, these Bernese, for they evidently comprehend 
what a nuisance the small boy is, and in-this figure have typified 
his proper disposition. Finally, there is a wonderful clock in one 
of the squares. Just before the hour, a sickly-looking, weather- 
beaten rooster crows, in order to wake up the rest of the company 
and get them ready for business. A moment later some bears 
inarch around a circle, and a chap, looking something like a cir- 
cus-clown, strikes a bell in order to let the rest know what hour 
is to be announced. The rooster then crows again, as if to say, 
^All ready ! Let go ! ' whereupon the hour strikes. Then an old 
gentleman who, I suppose, represents Time, turns an hour-glass, 
nods his head, and opens his mouth. At the same time a bear 
sitting by the old gentleman checks off the hour by nodding his 
head at each stroke. Then a figure higher up hammers the hour 
on a bell with a hammer, as though he were saying, ' You are 
quite right down there ! ' Finally, the rooster who made the 
opening makes the closing speech in a final crow; and that ends 
the striking of the hour." 

" It strikes me," said The Commander, " as being very compli- 
cated." 



336 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

" Yes. It demonstrates that these Swiss are way behind in me- 
chanical ingenuity and labor-saving machinery. The idea of 
requiring a rooster, a half dozen bears, a circus clown, old Time, 
some more bears, and an overseer in the shape of a big stone 
figure, to do such a little thing as to strike the time of day ! A. 
Yankee would let the Bernese know what time it is with a brand 
new Connecticut clock, which would not cost over two dollars 
and a half And then there's another thing. That Swiss ar- 
rangement has got no ambition, no ' snap.' You couldn't get 
that rooster for love or money to crow only at just such a time; 
and just so often, and so of all the rest of the company. But a 
Yankee clock isn't so particular, and has got some ' get-up-and- 
get ' about it. It is always willing to do all it has contracted for 
and a good deal more. It may have agreed to strike six, or ten, 
or twelve, at a certain hour, but it's always ready to go on and 
do some more. I've known one of those ambitious Yankee in- 
stitutions to go right on and strike three or four hundred, and 
never sweat a hair, when it needn't have struck but one or two. 
That's the kind of machine to have to get through with a good 
deal of work. But a Swiss clock, when it has fulfilled the pre- 
cise letter of its contract, just lays down its tools and quits work 
until the exact time to commence comes again. Suppose you 
happen to be in a hurry, what can you do with one of these Swiss 
concerns ? Nothing ! They're altogether too particular. That's 
the difference between an old, effete people and a nation whose 
veins pulsate with the blood of progress and of — of — well, all 
the rest of the thingumbob — whatever it may be. And this, I 
believe, except that such natives as I saw are a rather stupid, 
sleepy-looking lot, is all I saw worth repeating, in Berne." 

Swiss railways are probably the slowest, if not the worst in 
all other respects, in Europe. The only explanation of such a 
condition of things among so thriving and practical a people 
is that the trains run slowly to permit travelers to get a good 
view of the scenery, while it may be thought that the charm of 
the country will distract one's attention from the discomfort of 
the cars. 

They rolled along southward, searching for tropical warmth 
and finding it not. It grew cooler as they neared the equator. 
Meanwhile, the travelers found no lack of mountains. They 
passed the Bernese Alps on their left, skirted the rugged Breu- 
laire, and soon after rolled into Freyburg, whose suspension 



AMONG THE ALPS. 337 

bridge, with a single curve of over nine hundred feet, is said to 
be the largest in the world. 

" Boston must look on Freyburg with envy," said Madame, as 
they sped away from the ancient town, with its tottering walls, 
its baitlements and consijicuous watch-towers. 
• "Why so?" 

" Because there is there, I believe, the finest organ in the 
world." 

" If it be only the ' finest,' that does not concern Boston," said 
The Commander; "if it were the largest, then Boston would 
become at once an interested party." 

Mountains to the right of them, mountains to the left of them, 
through which the train rattled and thundered. They dashed 
through tunnels, climbed hills, descended other hills, and rouaded 
in vast sweeps the bases of towering heights. Now, the swollen 
waves rolled over the train, and now they retreated, leaving long 
troughs through which the travelers caught sight of blue-black 
mountain-tops battlementing the sky line like the walls of a 
fortress for the use of the gods. 

Now and then, in the far and dim distance, there came into 
view great masses, but so remote, so indistinct, and so lofty, that 
they seemed rather the creation of the imagination than realties. 
Foremost among these were the Moleson, with its broken walls, 
the Deat de Jaman, and Dent du Midi, standing like advanced 
works in the mighty range of fortifications. Beyond these, tower- 
ing far above them, blue, intangible, and seeming a part of the 
sky itself — a colossal continent in the upper air ^ was Mont 
Blanc. 

Tlie train halted a moment or two at Rue, which lies beneath 
the shadow of a turreted castle, and then rolled on, and buried 
itself among the hills. In the semi-darkness of overhanging 
heights, in the total darkness of tunnel after tunnel, the train 
drove on, until suddenly, with a shriek, it issued from the region 
of night into one of blinding daylight, and the travelers saw 
spread out before them a scene than which nothing more beauti- 
ful could be imagined or created. Far below them, to the left, 
extended Geneva Lake, or Lake Leman, widening, curving, glist- 
ening, until lost in the distance. The train was running along 
the crest of a lofty range of hills, every foot of whose slope, from 
the track down to the water's edge, was covered with the green 
and brown of thrifty vineyards. Across the lake could be seen 
22 



338 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

the glistening "wliite of sleeping villages, beyond which rose 
gradually green and wooded hills which seemed to serve as 
mighty buttresses to a mountain chain behind them. The view 
along the lake is uninterrupted for miles, so that the eye takes in, 
at once, dozens of villages, dotting the shores far below the train ; 
peak after peak lost in the clouds and blue of the distance — takes 
in a scene in which there are repose, grandeur, limitless variety 
simplicity, and a mysterious suggestion of infinite strength and 
duration. 

Madame was more charmed with the sudden and unexpected 
scene than she could find words to express. She could only refer 
to her favorite poet, Byron. 

" And this is Lake Leman ? " said she after some moments of 
speechless adoration of the glorious view, "this is the lake of 
■which Byron speaks when he describes the storm : 

' From peak to peak the rattling crags among 

Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud. 

But every mountain now hath found a tongue: 
And Jura answers through her misty shroud 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! ' " 

The Commander, who was sufiering from some atrocious 
twinges of rheumatism, nevertheless gave utterance to his admi- 
ration in plain but emphatic prose, pronouncing it the most 
charming view he had ever seen. 

Gradually descending from its elevated way, the train passed 
through Lausanne — the home of Gibbon — and finally, at the level 
of the lake, it halted on the banks of the Rhone. A half-hour 
later the excursionists were warming themselves at a fire in a 
hotel in the famous city of Geneva. 

The next morning, being in the mouth of June of the current 
year, the party was huddled about a fire in the grate, engaged in 
discussing the situation. 

" 1 suppose," said The Commander, as with a shiver he hitched 
nearer the grate, " that we are now in a town which is the most 
celebrated — " 

"And the coldest," Soussigne mariaged to insert. 

" — In many respects in all Europe. Here have lived John 
Knox, Calvin, Rousseau, Farel, Voltaire, Byron. From here has 
emanated a religious influence that has exercised a greater power 
on the world's history than the discovery of America by Colum- 
bus. It may almost be termed the cradle of religious liberty, or 



AMONG THE ALPS. 339 

intolerance, or reform, or wliatever is the proper name for that 
phase of religion which Calvin elaborated." 

"A. great man," said Soussigne, "was Mr. Jean Chauvin, alias 
John Calvin. By the way, if we get time we should not omit to 
visit a hill just south of the town, known as Champel. There 
are many of our Chicago friends who are so attached to Calvin 
that they would never forgive us if they knew we were near a 
spot so intimately related to Calvin and his religious teachings, 
and yet should fail to visit it." 

" What is Champel ? " asked Madame. 

"What! You don't know Champel, you who live in Chicago 
and know Drs. Patton and Swing? Incredible ! Why, Champel 
is the spot on which, by order of Jean Chauvin, alias John Cal- 
vin, the theologian, Michael Servetus was burned, and all because 
he had some views on the Trinity which were not Indorsed by 
Monsieur Chauvin. I think I'll take home a vial of the soil from 
Champel and present it to Bob Ingersoll, just to see how it will 
make him spread himself and howl in his next theological dis- 
course." 

After a while they started out to visit the church where Calvin 
preached, and the house in which he had lived for some twenty 
years. They first interviewed the manager of the hotel : 

''^Calveene? Calveene? Maisje ne connais pas M^sieu Calveene," 
was the answer of that worthy. A hack-driver had also never 
heard of M'sieu Calveene. It was only after having been driven 
twice across the Rhone, and up and down the adjoining heights, 
that they managed to find the place. They finally entered Rue 
d'Enfer, then passed into Rue du Purgatoire, and thence into 
Place de la Madelaine, where they found themselves in front of 
a ruinous old church, with decaying buttresses and toppling 
cornices. 

"Odd, isn't it," said Soussign6, "that in order to reach the 
church in which Calvin and John Knox preached, we pass 
through a street named ' Hell,' then into one called ' Purgatory,' 
and finally discover it in ' The Square of the Courtesan ? ' " 

The church was closed and they could not gain admittance. It 
impressed them as mouldy, decaying, unsightly. All about it are 
narrow streets and dirty alleys, whose mean shops are the per- 
manent abode of filth, squalor, second-hand clothing and Jewish 
faces. 

"Strange," muttered The Commander, "that Calvinism does 



340 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

not rescue this, its Holy Sepulchre, from the infidels of povcrtjr,, 
decay, and dirt which now have it in possession ! " 

Near by is No. 11, Rue Chanoines, an old two-story house, with 
a. stone front, a small court-yard, and a general appearance of 
having been left far behind by advancing civilization. This is 
the house where Calvin lived and died; and is now a hospital, as 
the travelers learned from an inscription over a small side-door. 
In a street still narrower and meaner, in the same neighborhood. 
Grand Rue, No. 40, they found the house in which Jean Jacques 
Rousseau was born. The house is in every respect more dilapi- 
dated and mean than the one which was occupied by Calvin. 

" In the matter of style," said Soussigne, " Calvin seems to 
have had much the best of it." 

" Two great men," was The Commander's response — " two great 
men. One was the poison and the other the antidote." He 
failed, however, for some reason, to say which was the antidote 
and which the poison. 

They drove around the town for a few hours, admiring ita 
quays, the swift-rushing Rhone, and the charming views up and 
down the lake. 

"Geneva," said The Commander, " may be called a handsome 
town, situated on a charming lake, and surrounded by some of 
the grandest scenery in Europe. That is all. It has no great 
buildings, or statues, or curiosities. Its renown is built upon 
moral, social, religious foundations. It has never played an im- 
portant part in the politics of the world — " 

" You forget," said Soussigne, " that here was held that con- 
vention which gave so many millions of John Bull's money to 
Uncle Sam, for damages committed by the Alabama during the 
civil war. This fact alone gives Geneva the greatest prominence, 
at least in the United States. Among us tlie place is endeared by 
just as many tender recollections as there are dollars in the 
award." 

Madame said that " the fact that Lord Byron had once lived in, 
or near Geneva, was sufficient to confer upon it immorality — " 

" You mean immortality," said Soussigne. 

" Of course I mean immortality. That's what I said." 

They ascended the heights leadmg to Pregny, and had spread 
before them, across the lake, the entire range of the Alps of Savoy, 
with Mont Blanc towering among them — the monarch among- 
the giants which surround it. They thought of going to Ferney, 



AN OPEN LETTER. 341 

"Where Yoltaire lived, but it was too cold. Madame wished to go 
to Varemble io look over the chateau once occupied by Josephine, 
"but the weather repressed them. For the same potential reason 
they did not visit Diodati, where Byron once lived, which depriva- 
tion almost broke Madame's heart. 

" Without seeing Diodati," said she, " it seems to me that our 
visit to Geneva will be in vain." 

" I have made up my mind," said The Commander, " that we 
are too early ; that it is still too cold to visit here with any com- 
fort. I think, therefore, we will give up going to Italy — " 

" What ! " ejaculated Madame, " give up a visit to beautiful and 
classic Italy, where — " 

"And," continued The Commander, as if he had not been 
interrupted, " go direct to Paris." 

" How delightful ! " said Madame," such a sensible conclusion! 
Can we start in the mornmg ? '' 

They did start the next day, and some sixteen hours later found 
themselves in Paris. 



LETTER LI. 

AN OPEN LETTER. 

Paris, July 3, 1878. 



■iTy^TEARIED bj^ his long ride, and affected by the severe 



w 



C/^S/^ weather which had attended them every day since 

<~^ leaving London, The Commander found it necessary 
to lay up a few days for repairs. So to speak, he went into 
a dry-dock in a high and charming location on the Rue Fau- 
bourg St. Honore, and there commenced having himself over- 
hauled by one of the most skillful of the profession in Paris. 

To him came, a couple of days later, Soussigne, who said: 

" I have written an open letter, which I would like to submit 
to you." 

"What about?" 

" Some points in our travels, and which will be explained as 
the letter is read." 

"Very well; go ahead." 



342 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Soussigne then proceeded to read the following open letter, 
and which was dated Paris, July 1, 1878 : 

" My Dear Mr. Harper : la your invaluable guide-book you 
state that you will be glad to have tourists make any corrections 
or suggest any improvements. I am prepared to do both. On 
page 273 of your latest edition, in speaking of Strasbourg, you 
say that ' although belonging to France, it is essentially,' etc. 
Now, from some remarks I have heard since being in France, I 
am inclined to think your statement may be a trifle inaccurate. 
In any case it may be worth while for you to look the matter up, 
and assure yourself that you are not mistaken. 

" There are several assertions of this kind which require veri- 
fication; but I shall pass them in order to touch upon some 
omissions. It may not liave occurred to you, but it is a fact, that 
people who are about to visit, say Europe, would like to know 
something about prices of living at hotels, the rent of apart- 
ments, cost of railway travel, and all that; and yet of these you 
say not a word. It is true your guide-book is already so large 
that, if much more were added to it, one would have to put 
handles on it and carry it like a trunk; nevertheless, you might 
omit some of the puffs of wine-houses, watch-makers, jewelers, 
etc., which occupy so much space in your book, and insert the 
class of information I have referred to. 

" In company with some highly-respectable people, I have just 
visited various portions of northern and central Europe ; and I 
am, therefore, in a condition to call your attention to these 
matters. 

" In London, one may live in a hotel, boarding-house, or apart- 
ments. The last-named is by far the best and cheapest for one 
who proposes to remain in the English metropolis for not less than 
a fortnight. A well-furnished parlor, with a bedroom attached, 
can be had in an excellent quarter for about $5 to $10 a week. 
The landlady will always serve meals in the rooms, cooked to 
order, at reasonable rates. The boarding-houses are generally 
inferior, while prices are high, ranging, for single rooms, from 
$20 a week, up. The hotels are slow, substantial, and expensive, 
as a general thing. But one or two in London have elevators. 
The occupant pays so much a day for his room, and then dines 
where he pleases. Some of the hotels have a table d'hote, at a 
fixed price, but usually one dines and pays for what he orders. 
Living at a hotel of a fair kind in London costs about $2 to $7 a 



AN OPEN LETTER. 343 

day for room, includiag lights and service. A good dinner may- 
be had anywhere at prices ranging from seventy-five cents to 
$1.25. In securing apartments tlie first floor above the street is 
best. As a summing up, I may state tliat two persons can live 
very comfortably in London, having one parlor and two bed- 
rooms, with meals served in rooms, at a cost of $10 each per 
week. At a hotel the cost per week, inclusive of meals, will be 
about $40 for each person, and includes only a bed-room without 
a parlor. Of course these figures refer only to an excellent qual- 
ity of living, and neither to tlie highest nor lowest. One can sub- 
sist in London on twenty-five cents a day; and one can also pay 
as many pounds per day, for extravagant rooms and furniture. 
These medium figures cover what any well-to-do American fam- 
ily would — or should — be satisfied with having. 

"At the present time, during the exposition, prices are not at 
all representative of Paris in ordinary years. Room rents are 
more than twice as high as they are in other seasons ; and al- 
most everything else has gone up proportionately. Much now, 
however, depends upon the location, and the kind of people into 
whose hands the travelers fall. At a hotel a single bed-room 
costs everywliere from $1 to $3 a day. A parlor and a couple of 
bed-rooms connected cost from $6 to $20 a day, according to the 
style of hotel and floor upon which tlie rooms are located. 

" Apartments for a family, including bed-room, small parlor, 
and closets, cost from $50 to $200 a month, according to the part 
of the city Ihey are in, and tlie etage, or story. This does not in- 
elude service, which will cost from fifty cents to $1 a day. Then 
there is the concierge, who must be paid from $1 to $10 a month. 

" A table d'hote at first-class hotels may be had at from $1 to 
$2, inclusive of ordinary claret. There are, however, abundant 
places, notably at the Palais Royal, where dinner can be had — 
and a good dinner, too — for fifty cents, or two and a half francs. 
This will include a choice of three kinds of soup, fish, meat, 
vegetables, dessert, and a pint of claret. From two to four cents 
is expected to be paid to the waiter for his pour-boire — as many 
servants at restaurants pay for their positions, and depend for 
their remuneration upon the gratuities given them by customers. 
In fine, the cost of living in a sufficiently comfortable style in 
Paris, at tlie present time, may be averaged at from $15 to $20 
per person for a week, in apartments. In hotels, it will nowhere 
cost less, but always considerable more. In ordinary times one 



344 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

may live here in a tliorouglily comfortable manner for one-lialf 
the sum. Getting about Paris is cheap. A carriage with seats 
for two costs forty cents an hour and three to four cents more to 
the driver. For three cents outside, and twice that sum inside, 
one can cross Paris from one end to the other by means of busses 
or street-cars. I may add that beer costs from six to ten cents a 
glass; a very fine article of claret, St. Julienne or St. Estephe, 
from sixty cents to $1.20 a bottle; champagne, $3, and the best 
article of brandy about ten cents per glass. It may also be stated 
here that what is known as the premiere, or first floor in Paris, 
is usually what in America is the third floor. There is the floor 
on the level with the street; next the entresol; then the premiere, 
seconde, etc., so that a person occupying the seconde etage, for in- 
stance, has to go up tliree flights of stairs to reach it. 

" Brussels is very much the same as Paris in ordinary seasons. 
The cookery, the hotels, in fine, the system of living generally, 
is almost a precise reproduction of Paris. In our excursion to 
that city we had a parlor on the first floor above the street, two 
bed-rooms, and a servant's bed-room; these and the meals for the 
party averaged about $16 per day. This included wines, attend- 
ance, lights, fires, everything, and all in first-class order. 

" Holland is very expensive. The bill for the same party for 
one day at the Old Bible Hotel, Amsterdam, was seventy-one 
florins, or nearly $30. This included very excellent living, but 
nothing extra, and it did not include the amount wrung from the 
party by a persistent horde of mendicants, who were composed 
of every servant in the establishment. In Cologne, Mayence, and 
other German towns, the cost per day of the party of four was 
about seventy marks, or something near $30. At Bale, Lucerne, 
Berne, and Geneva, the expenses of the quartet were about 
seventy-five francs, or $15 per day. In the cases of Germany and 
Switzerland, the amounts given do not include the fees paid to 
the various servants. In fine, the cost per day per person aver- 
aged during the Continental tour about $8. Considering that 
the party always had a parlor ; always occupied floors as near as 
possible to the street; and that, owing to the lameness from a 
rheumatic attack of one of the party, meals were generally served 
in the rooms, it may be estimated that the expenses of this party 
in hotel bills were at least 50 per cent higher than they would be 
for a party traveling under more favorable circumstances. In 
other words, a person about to make a Continental tour may 



AN OPEN LETTER, 345 

safely count upon being able to live in excellent style at an ex- 
pense for hotels of $3.50 a day. 

The food at all these points is generally of a good quality, well 
Cooked, and well served. The custom is to serve coffee, hot milk, 
and bread for the first meal at the time of rising. Breakfast 
comes about noon, and dinner at from 5:30 to 7:80 P.M. In 
Switzerland, at all the hotels, honey and butter are served in the 
morning, with the coffee and hot milk. 

" The item of fees to servants is not an inconsiderable one in 
the expenses of a traveler anywhere in Europe. The rule ap- 
pears to be that everybody who. does a service expects a ' tip.' If 
one wishes a guard on an English railwaj'' to be attentive, to give 
one compartments to one's self, to promptly unlock the door and 
let one out at the stopping places, one must either give him a 
shilling before the train starts, or at the end of the journey. 
The porter who carries the luggage to the baggage-van, and the 
one who takes it out and calls a cab, expect from six to twenty- 
:five cents each. On the Continent about the same system pre- 
vails. I have never yet seen a conductor on a continental train 
refuse a ' tip,' except in one case ; and that was in Belgium. In 
this instance he refused the amount offered him for the reason 
that ' it wouldn't buy a chope of beer.' It was doubled ; and 
then his hesitation vanished. 

" At every Continental hotel the persons who expect fees are 
the concierge, the porter, the head waiter, the waiter at the table, 
the one who answers the bell, the woman who takes care of the 
room, and the ' boots.' The concierge expects a franc a day, 
and the others a smaller proportionate sum, — perhaps in all, 
about five francs, or a dollar for a day. One need not pay these 
fees; but few have the audacity to break in upon this custom of 
universal robbery, and while cursing it, they submit with as good 
a grace as possible. Of course, a single traveler with a hand- 
bag escapes much more cheaply; and the longer a party stops in 
a single hotel, the smaller in proportion are the fees, as a week's 
stay will not require a much larger outlay than a single day and 
night. In the case of the party of four, the fees at hotels, at de- 
pots, and on the trains were nearly or quite a sum equal to one- 
quarter of what was paid for hotel bills. 

"The cost of traveling varies very much, according to the 
country one may be in, and according to the class — whether 
first, second, or third. Second class is generally about one-third 



346 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

less than first class, while third is not more than one-half that of 
first class. A. first class compartment is finely upholstered, and 
carries six people. The second class is less pretentious, and 
holds eight. Third class has plain wooden seats, and accommo- 
dates ten persons — all of the compartments being of the same 
dimensions. For invalids and those who can afibrd it, first class 
is every way preferable, for in no case is European first class 
much in advance of an ordinary American car, while it is very 
much behind an American drawing-room car. Second class is 
not uncomfortable, and will do nicely for people who are dis- 
posed to be economical, especially as all the lines are so short 
that one can always arrange it so as only to travel during the 
daytime. 

" The cost of tickets may be inferred from the statement that 
our party bought three first and one second class tickets from 
London to Geneva, via Dover, Ostend, Brussels, Cologne, to May- 
ence (by Rhine), Heidelberg, Bale, Lucerne, Berne, Lausanne, 
for about $140 — or some $36 per head. This included the priv- 
ilege of stopping oft at every place of importance, the tickets 
holding good for sixty days from date. Second class for the 
same distance would cost some $28, while third class can be had 
for $20. The fare from London to Paris and return, via Dover 
and Calais, first class, is almost $24 — by other routes it is not 
more than two-thirds the same sum. 

"The best plan for a Continental traveler is to buy a round- 
trip ticket from London, which will take in the principal points 
which he wishes to visit. He can then stop at these places, and 
make side excursions in every direction. In every Continental 
country except Switzerland a reasonable amount of baggage is 
transported free. In Switzerland, everything except what is 
carried in the hands is charged for by weight. The average 
price of carriages from depots to hotels is about twenty cents a 
person. 

" The cars in all Continental countries except Switzerland, are 
on the compartment plan. In Switzerland they have also com- 
partments, but the traveler does not enter at the side of the car. 
He goes in at the ends, as in the American car, and reaches his 
compartment by passing down the central aisle. The compart- 
ments, however, are separated from each other by doors. 

" In Great Britain tickets are shown to and punched by an of- 
flcial before the traveler enters the car, and then he is not called 



AN OPEN LETTEK. 347 

upon to show his ticket until the end of the journey. On the 
Continent, except in Switzerland, the conductor passes along the 
outside of the car while the train is in motion, walking on a nar- 
row railing. He opens the door and examines and punches tick- 
ets without entering. In Switzerland, the guard goes through 
after leaving a station, as in the American system. In all cases 
the guard will accept a fee, whether he performs any particular 
service or not. 

"There are few or no sleeping-cars in the American sense, ex- 
cept on one or two roads, in England and Germany, where the 
Pullman cars are used. There are employed on the Continent 
what are termed ' coupe'-lits ' and ' coup^-fauteuils.'' The former 
are small kennels at the rear of a car, having three seats, which 
may be arranged so as to make one bed and a seat. The ' coup/- 
fauteuils ' are in the same location, with -three seats, which can 
be extended so as to form sleeping arm-chairs. They must be 
engaged several hours in advance and cost about $4.50 for each 
seat. 

" In going from Cologne to Mayence, up the Rhine, meals are 
served in excellent style on the boat, at about double average 
hotel rates. 

" In Belgium the guards and employes all speak French, and 
some speak in addition Flemish and German. In Holland the 
same class speak little or no French, making travel there very 
difficult. In Germany a majority speak French as well as Ger- 
man, and the same is true in Switzerland. At every station every- 
where is an official who may be known by his red fatigue cap, who 
is the chef du station, and who is supposed to speak all modern- 
languages. A majority of them speak English, and as they are 
always present when a train enters or leaves a station, they are 
very useful to the traveler who is in search of information, 
and who can usually get it in the language in which he applies 
for it. 

" At every Continental hotel there is always a person with a 
gold band on his cap, and who is the portier or concierge. His 
business is to receive travelers and answer all questions. He is 
expected to speak at least English, French, and German. Some- 
times he adds to these Spanish and Italian. In Germany nearly 
every waiter speaks English and French in addition to German 
— many of them having spent years in France and England to 
learn these languages and fit them for the position they occupy. 



348 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

Nevertheless, while one caa get along with only English, one will 
find a knowledge of French almost indispensable. This is sub- 
stantially spoken everywhere ; and the traveler who understands 
it will learn twice as much from a trip as a man who has to 
depend solely upon a knowledge of English. 

" And, finally, let the traveler avoid too much baggage ; be 
always polite and civil; resist extortion; be temperate in all 
things ; and never forget that, as an American, he has to uphold 
the dignity of his country. 

" Begging your pardon for having troubled you at such great 
length, my dear Mr. Harper, I am, very respectfully, 

"Yours ; 

" Signed on behalf of the excursionists by 

"Le SoussiaNE." 

"How will that do?" asked Soussigne, when he had finished 
reading. " I could have made it longer, only I ran out of paper, 
ink, and — ideas." 

" 1 think that will do for the present," said The Commander — 
"a good deal more might have been said which would be of 
value to Americans coming abroad ; but perhaps the rest may be 
said at another time." 

" I should think," said Madame, " that something ought to be 
said about the cost of laces and other articles peculiar to each 
country, and the places where one can get them without being 
robbed." 

" You are quite right," answered Soussigne, " and as you are 
now in Paris where you have not much to do " 

"Not much to do?" interrupted Madame quickly, "and I 
haven't yet bought a yard of ribbon or done the least bit of 
shopping! " 

" Oh, I beg pardon! Well, when you have nothing else to do, 
how would it do for you to prepare a memorandum on the points 
you suggest ? Something of that sort would be a sweet boon to 
our countrywomen, and would save them bags of money and no 
end of trouble." 

Madame said she would think it over. 

And here the matter rests at the present moment. 



THE EXCITKSIONISTS IN PAKIS. 349 

LETTER LII. 

THE EXCURSIONISTS IN PARIS. 

Paris, July 8, 1878. 

tHEY were all sitting in the parlor of The Commander's 
apartments. Madame was busily engaged with a needle 
on one of those elegant decorations upon which women 
spend so much time, and in which they find so much pleasure. 
Clad in purest white, and sitting where there fell upon her a soft- 
ened flood of light strained through the crimson curtains, she 
made a most charming picture. The Commander was on the sofa, 
with a volume of Macauley by his side. Near him sat a youth of 
seventeen, the son of an American acquaintance, and who occu- 
pied himself mainly in close and surreptitious explorations over 
the region of his upper lip, under the thrilling impression that 
he had discovered something like down sprouting in that lo- 
cality. Soussigne occupied a chair within easy hailing distance 
of all parties. The Shade, with a white apron around his neck 
which reached to the floor, and whose whiteness was in brilliant 
contrast to the ebon hue of his skin, was engaged, cloth in hand, 
in dusting an enormous music-box. The music-box was grind- 
ing away at a classic excerpt from a famous opera, and doing it 
in an unwilling, lugubrious sort of a way, as if it would much 
have preferred a shy at " Ole Dan Tucker," or something a trifle 
more lively and popular. 

" I bought that music-box,'' said Madame, " expressly for The 
Commander, so as to keep him company while I do my shop- 
ping " 

"Very thoughtful of you," I'm sure," said Soussigne, "and it 
must be very thrilling for him to sit and listen to '■Robert! Rob- 
ert! Toi Que J''aime!^ and 'Adclio! Addio! Bel Passato,'' and all 
such cheerful things. I think, now, if I was sliut up with an ar- 
rangement of miser/r/s like that all in minor F, I should be — well, 
I am not exactly certain just how I should be. Somehow words, 
seem to fail me just at this crisis.'' 

At this moment Soussigne was interrupted by a suppressed 
sound of giggling and choking on the sofa. Looking over there 
he saw the American youth cramming his handkerchief into his 
mouth. His face was blazing red, and his eyes, which seemed 



350 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

about to burst from their sockets, were fixed upon The Shade. 
Turning in the direction of the latter, Soussigne saw that he was 
occupied with an astonishing performance. Standing behind 
the music-box — wliich was upon a table — he was engaged in 
running his fingers up and down the edge of the box, as if it 
were a piano. With eyes upturned till only the whites were vis- 
ible, his head jerking from side to side in true artistic fashion, 
iie ran along the suppositious keys, making the most extraor- 
dinary runs, trills, arpeggios, chromatic chords, and other speci- 
mens of instrumental efiloresccnce. Now and then he would 
look at the youngster on the sofa, and wink in so tremendous a 
style that it would bring the end of his mouth and the corner of 
his eye into direct contact. Then again, in the midst of his most 
ecstatic fingering, Madame would make some movement, where- 
upon in a flash his face would drop into an expression of the 
most lugubrious gravity and solemnity, and he would for a mo- 
ment resume his dusting as if he had done nothing but dust all 
his life. Fortunately, just in time to save the young man on the 
sofa from a fit of apoplexy. The Shade was sent from the room 
on some errand, and the performance terminated. 

" How do you like it here ? " asked Soussigne ; " and do you 
have any trouble with your landlady? " 

"Nothing unusual, I fancy," said The Commander; "every- 
thing goes in what is probably the regular French style." 

"How is that?" 

" Well, in the first place, we were_ to have the rooms for so 
much a month, and everything, as we understood it, included. 
After we got in we found that we must pay twenty francs a 
month extra to the concierge. The next revelation was that we 
must hire bed-linen and table-cloths, and furnish our own towels, 
«oap, and lights. "When this had been agreed to, then we found 
that we must furnish our own knives and forks, plates, in short, 
table service of all kinds. We agreed to this, as we couldn't help 
it very well, having signed a lease for a month ; and then the 
next thing was that we are to pay twenty francs more to have the 
rooms cleaned when we leave." 

"Is that all?" 

" Pretty much all, except that there was an inventory taken of 
everything in the apartments, even to the carpets, curtains, cur- 
tain-cords and rollers, rugs, candle-sticks — everything, in short, 
to keys and key-holes, all of which covered a half-dozen closely- 



THE EXCDRSIONSTS IN PARIS. 



351 




352 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

written pages of foolscap. All these are to be returned in first- 
class order, we being bound to pay for every scratch, crack, nick, 
chip, bruise, or any damage of any and all kinds whatever. I 
suppose our real payments will begin only when we get ready- 
to leave." 

" it's hard, and stupid, and all that," said Soussigne, "but it is 
the custom in la belle France. The French haven't built this 
beautiful city, and put in it all these statues, fountains, parks, 
drives, picture galleries, promenades, and the like, for nothing. 
It's a speculation on tlieir part, and they intend that the outside 
barbarians shall pay the bills. I suppose, of course, that you 
have found out tliat the landlady is the widow of a nobleman, 
and has been reduced to poverty and the necessity of renting- 
rooms by the failure of the empire, or the establishment of the 
republic, or something of tlie kind? That's the case with all of 
them." 

" Yes, something of the kind, I believe. The present female 
doesn't say much about her own nobility, but she has a sister 
who is the wife of a great mau. She uses this family connection 
to overawe us with wlienever we feel like asking her to abate a 
couple of sous in her extortionate charges. Of course one can't 
'jew' a lady all ruffles and dignity, and who is the sister-in-law 
of the peerage." 

" Oh, certainly not. Nevertheless, I apprehend that you will 
find when you come to settle that a sister-in-law of the peerage 
won't hesitate to get a couple of sous the better of you on every 
possible point. Tliat's the ditierence between an American sov- 
ereign and the French nobility. Why, I know French noblemen 
by the dozen whose average individual income is not over six- 
teen American cents a day. They make soup from a cabbage- 
leaf with a sprinkling of saffron. They luive a grisette up on 
some seventh ^lage who furnishes them M'ith funds for an occjw 
sional dinner. They walk up and down the boulevards for exer- 
cise and occupation, and are on the lookout for an American 
heiress. In this country, as you know, the woman must furnish 
some money before she can marry. Usually she furnishes the 
money and the man the position. That, it seems to me, is much 
more sensible than the American system, in which a father sad- 
•ites his daughter upon a young man just starting in life. In 
other words he marries her ofl[ so as to get rid of paying her 
board and millinery bills, by jjutting the expense on somebody 



THE EXCUESIONISTS IN PAKIS. 353 

else — and which is particularly hard and mean on a young man 
who is commencing business." 

" By the way," asked Madame, " are there many Americans in 
Paris just now?" 

" Many Americans ! Wliy they are all here," replied Soussigne. 
" Slouch hats are as thick in Paris as parasols on a hot day." 

"Who are here, for instance?" 

" Everybody ! The American general, he's here. The Ameri- 
can colonel has come. The judge has arrived. The member of 
Congress, the member of the Legislature, the alderman, the 
lawyer, and the doctor, they're all in town, with and without 
their families. They're occupying all the first floors at hotels, 
all the best seats at the theaters, all the front places at the Cafes 
Chantants. Their wives are visiting Jouvin's, the Bon Marche, 
the Magazin du Louvre, and the Palais Royal shops, buying 
everything, and paying from four to sixteen times as much for 
goods as a Frenchman would pny for the same article. Thej' 
pay five francs for vin ordinaire — worth twenty sous a bottle — 
under the impression that it is St. Estephe ; they buy rotten Alex- 
andi'ine gloves for Alexander's ; they applaud the wrong pieces, 
and in the wrong place, at the concerts ; they are littering Paris 
with a jargon which they fancy is French, and — " 

" It seems to me," interrupted Madame, "that you are not in a 
benevolent humor this morning. It isn't quite probable that all 
the Americans who come here are idiots, gulls, fools, and all 
that." 

"Not at all, although it happens to be the fact that the Ameri- 
cans who make themselves most conspicuously American are 
precisely of this class. The modest and really gentlemanly 
American element nowhere makes itself noticeable in dress, be- 
havior, or conversation. The difference between the English and 
American — of the 'loud ' kind — is, that one knows the former by 
their dress, the latter by their manners. An American has a false 
pride which prevents his cheapening an article, or exacting the 
right change of a coachman. He fancies that this kind of thing 
will pass for generosity, whereas it only lias the effect to make 
the French think he is a prodigal fool, who is throwing away his 
money without any consideration. The coachman, to whom such 
an one gave yesterday a shillmg more than his due, will to-mor- 
row try, if possible, to get two shillings extra from the same 
customer. He doesn't give credit for an over-payment, but on 
23 



354: SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

the contrary, he makes it a debt against the other to be collected 
with one hundred per cent, added at the first opportunity. The 
same is true of a shop-keeper. If overpaid to-day, in place of 
substracting it from a bill which the American may make to- 
morrow, he will rather increase the just amount, saying to him- 
self: 'This idiot is throwing away his money; somebody will 
get it, and I may as well get as much of it as I can while it is 
going.' I tell you that American extravagance has almost doubled 
the prices of everything in Paris without having at all increased 
respects for Americans. However, I am happy to say, there are 
abundant exceptions; but it is no easy task for this class to 
redeem, by their just financial transactions, tlieir modest behavior, 
their cultivated manners, the discredit which is brought upon the 
name of American by the mob of shoddy Yankees who annually 
inundate the French capital." 

The Commander, deep in Macaulay, had paid no attention to 
the discussion. ]\Iadame was called away by some household 
matter, and Soussigne left to visit the Exposition — first being 
assured by the Commander that he should not visit that institu- 
tion for a few days, until rested and somewhat recovered from 
his rheumatic attack. 

" Beautiful Paris," thought Soussign6, " thou art the courtesan 
of civilization — not the gross cyprian of the slums, but the suc- 
cessor of the Greek ante-type whose home was in the gleaming 
marble of palaces ; whose poetry and intellect exacted the respect- 
ful admiration, as her beauty and graces did the devotion, of all 
men. Thou art the artistic, the poetic courtesan of the nations. 
Thy perfumed breath falls upon men, and they grow languid and 
forget the world in which they live and the duties which demand 
their attention. To sit at thy feet, to listen to the music of thj' 
voice, to watch for the shimmer of thy white arms, to note the 
ever-changing beauty of thy face becomes the task of all who 
fall within tlie influence of thy potent spell. The stars seem to 
shine with a softer light where thou art, and the wind to smooth 
its brusqueness so as to touch thy cheek with only a light caress. 
To be with thee, to be near thee, is to forget the world, is to have 
the hours dance swiftly by, chanting amorous lullabys as they 
pass, lulling the listener into a dreamy ecstasy. Already I feel 
the languor of thy influence stealing over me like a — " 

"Hullo, what the d — 1 you a doin' here!" suddenly fell upon 



THE EXCUBSIONISTS IN PAKIS. 355 

Soussigne's ear like a nasal thunder-clap, scattering his reverie 
as the advent of a big cat will " flush " a flock of snowbirds. 

Soussigne turned and saw before liim a black slouch hat, with 
the front turned down knowinglj^, so as to partially obscure a 
pair of grey, small, keen eyes ; a red moustache, a big cigar, a 
long " goatee." Below were a slim neck, a bony pair of shoulders, 
a thin waist, and a pair of slender legs, ending in square-toed 
boots. As a whole, it was a man of about thirty, with a shrewd 
face, restless movements, and a suit of clothes which had evi- 
dently been purchased ready-made and without especial reference 
to fit or harmony of color. 

It was the American member of the Legislature who had run 
over to Paris for a three days' stay, after having given a few 
weeks to hunting up his relatives and former acquaintances in 
the south of Ireland. 

They exchanged congratulations, and information on the 
weather; and then the member gave SoussignS the latest news 
from home. 

" How do you like Paris ? " asked the latter. 

" It's not a bad place to luk at," said the member as he fell into 
an oratorial position and raised his forefinger as if he were ad- 
dressing his constituents; "it's by no manes a bad i)lace to luk 
at, an' that's all ye can thruthfully say about it. There isn't a 
drop of dacent whisky in all Paris, an' divil a sowl ye can say a 
wurred to owin' to their ignorance in not understhandin' English. 
There's no bars where ye can walk up an' take a thimblefuU, an' 
then go about yer business, but ye must sit down to a table, an' 
ask a blundherin fool for something he hasn't at all, in a Ian- 
guage which he doesn't understand. I'm thinkin' that the sooner 
I get out o' this the betther. And yet what astonishes me is that 
such mannikins, such hop-o-my-thumbs as these frog-aters, should 
build up such a wonderful city. That bates me ! " 

Soussigne took pity on the forlorn condition of the American 
member. He told him where he could get a toothful of the rale 
ould stuff, and where it could be called for in English, and where 
it could be drunk standing, at the drop of a hat. And then the 
two left the Palace of the Trocadero and went off together. 



356 



SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 




THE AMERICAN MEMBER AT HOME. 



THE EXCUKSIONISTS IN PARIS. 357 

LETTER LIII. 

THE EXCURSIONISTS IN PARIS. 

Paris, July 12, 1878. 

fT was the American judge who had the floor this time. The 
Commander sat on the sofa coddling his rheumatic leg. 
Madame was out shopping. Soussigne was an attentive 
listener. The Shade had tried to become interested, but, failing 
to comprehend the subject, he put several immense yawns in his 
white apron, and then quietly stole away. 

"Yes," said the Judge, looking out from under his heavy eye- 
brows with the same expression that his friends have noticed a 
thousand times when he was settling an " objection " — " yes, there 
are a good many things about the French tliat I like, especially 
in the administration of justice. Now, I have often felt when 
trying a case, that I was a mere dummy, a figure-head sitting up 
there, and that the result had been arranged with the jury in 
advance. There's nothing of that kind in the French courts of 
justice. When a case is begun it moves straight on without im- 
pediment until the end is reached. After judgment there is no 
unnecessary delay in execution — that is to say, there are no thou- 
sand and one processes and legal technicalities which can be 
invoked to embarrass the carrying out of the decision. An illus- 
tration of how easily the administration of French affairs pro- 
gi'esses can be seen in the method of opening a new street." 

" With us/' said The Commander, " a labor of that sort extends 
through a generation." 

" Exactly Well, there's none of that nonsense here. The gov- 
ernment decides that a street should be opened through a certain 
•quarter, and at once notifies owners along the route of its inten- 
tion, and, moreover, that they must vacate by such a date. Juries 
assess the value of the property to be taken, and the government 
pays the owner the price thus determined on. There is a right 
of appeal from the decision of the juries, but the court to which 
it is taken passes on it at once — there is not a delay of two years 
before the case is reached, and then another delay of two years 
because parties are not ready for trial. No ! The case comes up 
at once, and is passed on at once. Then the houses are torn down 



358 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

and the debris removed ; after which the government advertises 
the lots for sale, and they are sold under an agreement that a cer- 
tain kind of improvement shall be made within a given time. 
The result of this system is that a new street is made within an 
incredibly short space of time ; and, what is equally worthy of 
note, the government makes money by the transaction — as the 
lots, owing to the improvements put upon them, always sell for 
more than they cost." 

At this point Soussigne pleaded an engagement and left, after 
having expressed his regret at being obliged to lose so much 
valuable judicial information. Going down the Rue St. Honore, 
he entered the Palais Royal, and then commenced flattening his 
nose against the glass of the show-windows, as he greedily 
devoured with his eyes the diamonds, jewelry, and other attrac- 
tive features of this famous locality. While thus engaged he 
suddenly felt himself rather rudely brushed against, and he- 
turned with the impatient remark : 

" Where in thunder are you going to ? " 

It was a little chap whom he thus addressed — a young man of 
twenty-two or thereabouts, and who, from his position when 
Soussigne turned, had evidently backed against the latter with- 
out seeing him. At the sound of Soussigne's voice the little chap^ 
turned around and an expression of satisfaction flashed over his 
face. 

"You speak English, I see," said he. 

"Yes, a little," was the answer. 

" Can you speak French ? " and an eager, yearning look came 
into his eyes. 

" A little. What can I do for you ? " 

" Well, there's a young lady standing there against that column, 
and I want to ask her to go to breakfast with me. I can't speak 
a word of French and she can't speak a word of English." 

" Oh, certainly," said Soussigne. " Anything to help a lame 
dog over a stile." 

And then he walked over to where the young woman was 
standing. She was at least ten years older than the little chap; 
she was dark as a mulatto, was pitted by small-pox, and was 
altogether, in Soussigne's estimate, what might be termed a 
"tough citizen." He lifted his hat, and in his best French con- 
veyed to her Monsieur's desire to have her breakfast with hinu. 



THE EXCURSIONISTS IX PARIS. 



559 



She assented. The little chap gallantly oflered his arm; she 
took it, and they sailed away. 

"That chap's a Yankee," thought Soussigne, as he marched 
along, pondering on the astonishing number of idiots there are 
in Paris as well as elsewhere— "he's a Yankee. Well dressed, 
and with rich jewelry, he's evidently a young man of wealth, 
who is over here to ' do ' Paris. I know all about him. His 
mother and his two sisters are with him, and they occupy the 




YOtma AMERICA ABROAD. 



first floor at the Grand Hotel. The old man is at home with his 
nose on the business grindstone ; and the family is over here for 
a splurge, to do some shopping, to interview Worth, to pick up a 
French count for one of the daughters. I know them — the old 
woman is fifty, fat, stupid, stiff, and under the impression that it 
is her mature charms which excite so much attention from the 
fldneurs on the boulevards, when she goes out with her daughters. 
The young women are tall, very slender, have an unabashed look, 



360 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

and can stare a four-horse wagon out of countenance. The little 
chap is an only son. He has never clone anything all his life, 
except to bully the servants, be petted and scolded in turn by the 
old woman, and be snubbed and caressed by the girls. He plays 
billiards, smokes strong cigars, sits up late with the seductive 
champagne bottle, and wakes up the next day with a great pain 
in his wretched little noddle. He will die of dissipation, and 
they will chisel on his monument '^tat 27.' One of the girls 
will marry a French count, who will gamble away all her money, 
will keep a mistress near the Bois de Boulogne, and finally ship 
her home to die of a broken heart. The other girl will go back, 
and on the strength of her continental trip and her new dresses 
will captivate and marry some young man around town in New 
York. The old man will set them up in a brown-stone front on 
an up-town avenue. The young man will get drunk, beat his 
wife, and then there will be a divorce, and the old man will get 
his daughter back again, with two grandchildren included. The 
old man will give way to the weight of business and domestic 
care, and will pass in his checks at sixty. The old woman, the 
daughter, and the grandchildren will retire to a. cottage which 
has been saved out of the old man's effects, and that'll be the end 
of them, so far as the public will know their history." 

Thus cogitating, and feeling inclined to wipe awaj^ a few tears 
over the affecting picture which he had thus created, Soussign6 
left the seductive precincts of the Palais Royal, and went over to 
the Exposition. 

A French woman is easily known by the artistic fit of her 
dress, the quietness of its colors, and its harmonious adaptation 
to the size and complexion of the wearer and the surroundings. 

One can locate the nationality of an English woman as far as 
one can see her. The material of her dress is of some " loud " 
color and bizarre pattern. She strides in place of walking. She 
is usually several sizes larger than the French and American 
women, especially in the matter of boots. She wears a hat which 
comes down over her forehead, while the other women wear theirs 
far back on their heads. In place of the predominant olive tints 
of the French, and the brown of the American, she has usually 
a clear, healthful, red-and-white complexion. Her hair is seen 
straggling out from under her hat, and this, with a general care- 
lessness in her make-up, seems to convey the idea that she looks 
upon herself as being among a rather inferior class, and that it 



THE EXCURSIONISTS IN PAKIS. 361 

is uot necessary for lier to look her best. She falls as far behind 
the just medium as the American woman goes in advance of it. 
This one dresses too much; that one too little. Nevertheless, 
oven with her great ill-fitting boots, her traveling dress which 
looks not unlike the skin of a zebra, worn stripes outside, her 
stride and her general appearance of carelessness, she always 
has something about her that is attractive." She is lithe, supple, 
vigorous. Her eyes have a modest firmness, and meet those of 
others squarely, as if at once she knew no fear and suspected no 
evil. The French girl goes along as if she regarded every man 
as a trap set to catch her, and she passes him with downcast eyes, 
as if she feared his presence. The difference between the three 
classes of women in their estimate of men, as shown by their 
action in public, is about as follows: 

The French girl seems to think a man dangerous, and there- 
fore to be avoided. 

The English girl acts as if she sees nothing, knows nothing, 
wrong in the other sex. 

The American woman bears the appearance of knowing that 
man is a very wicked, dangerous animal, but at the same time 
she shows in every movement that, while knowing this, she don't 
care a copper, and can take care of herself, anyhow. 

Soussigne strolled hither and thither among the crowds, noting 
these differences, and after a while, being a little tired, he took a 
seat. Near him were several groups, all resting from their 
fatigue, and discussing the situation. After a little he noticed 
that there were two gentlemen near him who were talking 
English, and who, from their dress and the subjects of conversa- 
tion, were evidently Americans. Just then a lank, swarthy indi- 
vidual passed them, and hearing the English, stopped and said : 

" Excuse me, gentleman. You are speaking English. Are you 
from Ameriky ? " 

" Yes," said one, " we hail from the land of the free and the 
home of the brave." 

" "Well, now, excuse me, gentlewe/i," said the last comer, " I am 

the Commissioner of the State of ," mentioning a State that 

lies on the east shore of the Mississippi, and south of the Ohio, 
" and I seen in an American paper this mornin' that thar's to be 
a great agricultooral fair in Melborn, and I thought to myself 
that while I was over hyar, I ought to get all the information I 
could on agricultor. Now, I thought I'd run out to Melborn, if 



362 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

it waat more'n a couple or three hours from Paris. But I can't 
find anybody who can understand what I say. Now, what I 
want to know is, whar's Melborn, and what's the best way to git 
thar?" 

"Well," said one of his listeners, with great deliberation, "you're 
just in time for the Melbourne fair, it you start at once. It is 
true that the fair doesn't take place till 1880, but, as Melbourne's 
in Australia, on the opposite side of the globe, and as the walk- 
ing may not be good all the way, a man who wants to get there 
on time, so as to get a front seat, ought to start now ! " 

The commissioner from the State of looked a little puzzled 

over this information. Finally he said : 

" Oh, it's way thar, is it? Excuse me, ge\ii\Qmen, for troubling 
you! I'm much obleeged, I'm sure. Good day, gentlewew.'" 
and then he went his way. 

A few days later the excursionists separated, and Europe, which 
had known them as a party, knew them as such no longer. 



^ 



LETTER LIV. 

OUB BABY ON THE STEAMER. 

On Ship Board, August, 187-. 

rr^IFE on an ocean steamer, after the novelty of the situa- 
'y\\£jj tion has worn off, becomes monotonous. There is, to be 
^*^ ' sure, variation in the surface of the ocean. Its hues 
change everlastingly. Now it is of the deepest indigo, and again 
of a diaphanous brown. Sometimes it presents a sombre same- 
ness for hours ; again, within the same horizon, there is present 
an infinite variety. 

Inky waves push forward in endless banks, crested with milk- 
white streamers, and which, now and again caught by the wind,, 
are tossed away, and disappear in a vivid iris, which, for a brief 
instant, crowns the wave, a gorgeous aureole. Nowhere, at such 
times, is there uniformity of effects. Each wave, as it goes 
careering by, is a kaleidoscope, in whose depths there is an ever- 



OUR BABY ON THE STEAMER. 36S 

shifting, a superb opalescence. Yet all this grows wearisome in 
time. Even variety becomes a burdensome monotony. The- 
waves are ever baffling the observer. There is no effect that can 
be retained ; there is no development that is permanent. Weary- 
ing of an attempt to comprehend the evanescent, of endeavorinff 
to fix ever-dissolving, ever-vanishing creations, the passenger 
turns ennuyed from the ocean and occupies himself with the 
microcosm of humanity within the ship. 

Shut up within this little world, whose opposite horizons one 
can almost touch with extended arms, every occurrence, however 
minute, assumes importance. What would be mole-hills in the 
great world itself, become here vast mountain ranges, with mon- 
strous, overhanging precipices, and fathomless ravines. What 
in another place would be trifles, become here of surpassing- 
consequence. 

Men and women, speedily exhausting each other of their expe- 
riences, or their mental novelties, are compelled to fall back upoa 
the chance developments of ship life to secure relief from an 
overpowering monotony. 

And so, when the doctor announced one day, over dessert, at the 
dinner table, that there was a baby in the steerage, the tiny fact 
became of great value. The intelligence passed from mouth to 
ear until it had gone the rounds of the tables ; and the doctor 
took rank as a public benefactor. Its age, its mother, her nation- 
ality, her destination, all formed a welcome subject of specula- 
tion and comment. Each day, when the doctor returned from 
his official visit about the ship, he was interrogated concerning 
the baby in the steerage. 

In time, we all learned, by dint of much questioning, that the 
mother was a young English woman, whose husband was a 
farmer in far-away Minnesota. She had gone back to England 
on business, and while there the babe was born, and now, although 
but a few months old, she was carrying it across the broad oceaa 
to her western home. 

A surpassing interest grew up and about this dot of life in the 
steerage. We canvassed its appearance ; we speculated upon the 
feelings of the father as he waited the coming of this baby that 
he had never seen. Surmises were expended upon his anxieties, 
his apprehensions, his anticipations. All took a part in dis- 
cussing the popular theme. Even some school-marms, returning 
from a hurried trip abroad, became interested ; and their faces 



364 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

brightened, as if from some distant maternal light, as they par- 
ticipated in tlie enthusiasm created by the absorbing event. 

Such was the status of Our Baby when some four or five days 
of sea-life had enveloped us with its monotony. 

One day at luncheon the surgeon announced that Our Baby 
was ill. Sad announcement! and yet one that came in time to 
rescue the baby from the danger of being, like other subjects, 
worn out and forgotten. Baby stock, already t^yo days old, and 
losing its novelty, and consequently its value, at once rose, and 
became in active demand for conversational circulation and 
delivery. The next day's report was looked forward to with 
expectant interest. 

The next day Our Baby was reported a little worse ; and there- 
•Upon the interest grew apace. "Men witli impassive faces, en- 
gaged in handling pieces of painted paste-board in the smoking 
cabin, intermitted the deal to ask a new-comer the latest bulletin 
from the steerage nursery. The doctor found himself everywhere 
the recipient of eager questions and tlie centre of inquiring little 
groups. Passengers crouched in the lee of the skylights ; couples 
flirting demurely as they leaned over the sides affecting to watch 
the waters ; brisk passengers, with expanded chests, breasting the 
salty air in a vigorous promenade, — all these found time and 
opportunity to inquire, What about the baby ? 

The morning reports became more depressing ; the evening bul- 
letins less full of hope. And now, little pilgrimages were organ- 
ized between cabin and steerage — not to the shrine of Our Lady 
of this; but of Our Baby on shipboard. Forms clad in water- 
proofs, and cowled like monks, might be met, threading the un- 
easy larboard gangway, running tlie gauntlet of its multifarious 
odors, lurching wildly like inebriated landsmen, all going to the 
shrine of Our Baby to deposit the frankincense and myrrh of 
sympathy, and kindred precious offerings. 

Others came reeling back the self-same route who, with low 
voices, evolved sad forebodings, or gave utterance only to the 
most tenuous and fragile of hopes. 

And then came one desolate morning; and with its gray mists 
and sombre skies the announcement : Our Baby is dead. 

Gloom came like a fog and enshrouded the ship, and settled 
about the hearts of the occupants. Something salt, and misty, 
like the spray caught up by the winds and dashed across the deck, 



ODE BABY ON THE STEAMEE. 365 

filled men's eyes, fell like a fine rain against the windows of 
each one's soul. 

The diurnal game in the smoking room dragged as if with 
much friction. A kind of silence came and hovered about the 
vessel. The regular groupings seemed rent apart as if by the 
repellant action of some internal force ; and the human atoms of 
the aggregate wandered alone and apart, wrapped in their own 
musings, and gazing out sj^mpathetically over the disconso- 
late sea. 

Solitary figures stole forward to once more and finally pay their 
devoirs at the central shrine. Not much now to be seen. A form 
so tiny that one wondered how death could pierce so small a 
mark. The weak, querulous little wail of yesterday, hushed. 
Half-closed lids, revealing a crescent of blue beneatli; ahead 
ringletted with flaxen hair; waxen cheeks and forehead; thin 
lips rounded and pushed out as if to clasp the tetin of the mater- 
nal breast; a little face upon which there nestled an expression 
half of pain and half of contented rest; a pair of transparent 
mites crossed upon a speck of a breast — these, and a woman 
with a bowed head, hot, tearless eyes, and sitting rigid as a statue 
beside the recumbent form, were all. 

That night, as the passengers lay rocking in their uneasy berths, 
there were none who did not think : Poor mother, sitting there 
by the side of her only one ! Poor father, waiting away across 
the water for mother and child ! 

The next day at noon there was gathei'ed a crowd about the 
starboard gangway. Social distinctions were for the moment 
obliterated, and the frieze and the corduroy of the steerage 
brushed freely against the finer stuffs of tlie aristocratic cabin. 

Two sailors in their full uniform dress came slowly along from 
the forward part of the ship, bearing on their shoulders a long, 
wide board. One end of this was placed upon the upper rail of 
the bulwark; the other end was held by the two sailors, one of 
whom stood upon each side. 

Then came another seaman, bearing tenderly a tiny burden, 
sown in canvas. This was laid upon the plank just over the 
rail of the bulwark, and then an officer stepped forward and rev- 
erently covered it with an American flag. 

By the side of the two sailors holding the plank stood the Cap- 
tain with uncovered head, an open prayer book in his hand, and 
close beside him sat a young woman whose head lay heavily 



366 SKETCHES BEYOND THE SEA. 

against the breast of another woman, and whose eyes were 
fastened clingingly on the shapeless object that was rudely out- 
lined upon the plank. 

A dull, leaden sky shut out the sun, and sent down long, va- 
pory tentacula that seemed to clutch at the tossing hair of the 
uncovered crowd. The storm rushed by in fierce haste, dashing 
the spray high above the smoke-stacks, and mingling itself with 
the lugubrious soughing of the escape-pipes. A twin trail of 
smoke fled from the stacks, and, uniting at the stern, was crushed 
down upon the crests of the waves, where it extended itself, a 
long, shapeless, sombre mass of funeral black. From the direc- 
tion of the wind, vast troops of waves rushed from out the 
sinister void, tossing their crested manes, and bore down on the 
vessel as if anxious to witness the pending spectacle. 

And now was heard through the voices of the storm the solemn 
tones of the reader: " I am the resurrection and the life." The 
storm caught the words and flung them up, and out upon the 
waters, smothering them with its clamor, and scattering them 
broadcast upon the damp scud that hurried away above the 
groaning ship. 

"We therefore commit this body to the deep " 

An ofiicer lifted the flag, the two seamen elevated the inner end 
of the hearse, and the tiny bundle slid down into the wrinkled, 
seething waves. A great gasp from the breast of the mother 
echoed the thud that came back from the waters ; and soon after 
kindly ones encircled her and led her away. 

The great ship sped on^ and the courser- waves, tossing their 
white manes, rushed over the grave of Our Baby, obliterating it 
until there shall come a final resurrection. 



THE END. 



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